Legacy of Kain VI: Time Streamer
by thats-a-moray
Summary: The Pillars are restored and the clans are in ruins. Now that Raziel has returned from the Reaver, his destiny complete, he fears Kain will destroy him as callously as he did the empire. Kain has fears of his own, for Raziel's re-birth has brought with it a new destiny that threatens Nosgoth's future.
1. Death and Rebirth

**AN: **Welcome to Time Streamer, the LoK project formerly known as Epilogue. I originally intended this story to be only a few chapters long. However, as the ideas have grown in my head, I've decided to simply continue writing it for as long as it takes to finish.

This story is post-Defiance. Unless you have played through the entire series, you may find this fic confusing. It also ties in with my other story, Wasteland Kingdom.

If you are new to Legacy of Kain, I highly recommend reading some of my one-shots first. You can read them in whatever order you like, but I recommend starting with: The Pit, Drabbles of the Damned, or Things Fall Apart. Wasteland Kingdom is also a good starter. Or feel free to jump right in to Time Streamer! In any case, there's a guide for newcomers on my profile you can use whenever you have a question.

* * *

_The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies  
he only _appears_ to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for  
people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have  
existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments  
just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can  
see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests  
them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one,  
like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.  
- _Kurt Vonnegut,_ Slaughterhouse-Five  
_

* * *

Someone once warned Raziel about the gravity of choice. As he traveled through Nosgoth's time stream, he met creatures who called him Messiah, Redeemer, and Destroyer, as if they could prescribe his destiny for him. But Kain was right. He did have a choice. Now was the time to prove his integrity. The weight of the world never weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

DESPAIR, RAZIEL! THERE IS NO ESCAPE.

The chamber of the Vampire's Oracle rumbled. The Oracle's massive, green tentacles coiled around whatever holds they could find, straining to pull the chamber down on top of them. Its globulous blue eye contracted. This monstrous Thing that called itself Oracle and Wheel and Benefactor threatened to bring the entire Citadel down on top of them.

Thrown to his knees by the quake, Raziel looked toward the corpse of the recently slain Time Streamer Moebius. There was no time to wonder how Kain still lived after their battle in Avernus Cathedral. He was here and with him the physical Reaver; but they were out of reach in the Material Realm, whereas Raziel was imprisoned here in the Spectral Realm with his Benefactor. He and Kain might have been standing side by side, yet they were also miles apart.

Coiled around his right arm like a noose, the essence of the wraith blade blazed white with purifying fire, cleansed of the corruption that infected Kain and all of Nosgoth through the healing light of Spirit. The physical Reaver Kain carried was an older version of the Soul Reaver, not yet possessed by its soul devouring spirit. If he could fuse Kain's Reaver with the Spirit Reaver he now bore in the form of the wraith blade, both Kain and Nosgoth might yet be saved from his Benefactor's tyrannical Wheel of Fate.

Moebius's empty corpse could provide the means for him to return to the Material Realm and re-unite with his master. He would need to act quickly, before his Benefactor trapped them here forever. How fortunate that It had unwittingly provided him with the perfect vessel to provoke Kain's hand. Raziel counted on his master's hatred of the Time Streamer and lust for violence to set events in motion.

Kain did not disappoint. The moment he spotted Moebius's body rising from the grave, he slashed open his chest with the Reaver and impaled him against a piece of rubble. His grin was sadistic. "Do you so enjoy death?"

Raziel's true form materialized from the corpse; his blighted, blue skeleton still ghoulish from the abyss. The remains of the wings his master had torn from his back hung from his shoulders as strips of tattered flesh. He answered Kain's taunt with false bravado,_ "Yes!"_

"Raziel!? No!" Eyes widening in horror, Kain tried to pull the Reaver free. As he pushed against the stone Raziel grabbed his arm and held on with all his strength. Meanwhile, the wraith blade coiled lovingly around the physical Reaver. As it did so, it turned on him, cannibalizing his soul and drawing it into the blade. What happened next could not be stopped. The time for Kain to save him was done.

Pointlessly, Raziel gasped for air through the hole where his throat had been. The cowl he wore to hide his disfigurement seemed to be preventing him from taking in air. Had he been unprepared for this he would have panicked and tried to remove it, but he expected these outdated urges to flare up in a time of crisis. Did he even have lungs anymore? He would have laughed at the irony if not for the sword in his chest and Kain's misguided desire to free him from the Reaver's hunger.

Knowing soon he would be too weak to fight off Kain's misplaced mercy, he tried to convince him to listen. Their destinies - the fate of Nosgoth - hinged upon this moment. But it was _choice_ that moved his hand – not destiny. He knew that this would mean the end for him. He made peace with that. What he did now he did not do for Kain, did not do for Nosgoth, not for Janos – not even for Janos. Kain needed to see this.

Raziel begged him to understand,_ "The Soul Reaver... pure of all corruption... this is what it is for... this is what _I_ am for! The two become one... both Soul Reavers, _together_... and the Scion of Balance is healed..."_ He placed his hand against the wound in Kain's chest, bidding the pure energy of the Spirit Reaver to cleanse Kain's corrupted body.

Raziel's vision spun wildly. For a moment everything went dark. Somehow, he managed to claw his way back to consciousness. When his vision returned he could no longer feel his legs. His material form was rapidly disintegrating. But unlike every other time his material form failed, there was no sense of his soul returning to its native home in the Spectral Realm. He was being pulled somewhere else. Walls seemed to be closing in around him. As claustrophobia set in, he accepted his fears, letting them pass over him like a wave.

There was no pain. All he could feel was the oppressive weight of his own body, now useless and cumbersome. If not for the Reaver pinning him to the stone like a butterfly to a cork board he would have collapsed completely. He barely possessed the strength to lift his head. When he did, he caught a glimpse of Kain's hand clasped over his own with uncharacteristic tenderness. His gaze was snared by his master's expression. He could not read it. Shock? Compassion? Regret? How ironic. Of all the moments Kain could have treated him with humanity, he chose this one.

Everything was going dark again.

But Raziel held on. He felt as he had countless centuries ago, standing with his master at the dawn of the empire, at a time when Nosgoth was still green and the stars still shined, when the land seemed so young and full of promise and the clans were united in true brotherhood. A time before his execution in the abyss, before the extermination of his clan, before rage blinded his heart. Once, not so long ago, he had chased Kain through time itself for petty revenge. Remembering their former animosity, he burned with shame and remorse. Now was his only chance, his final chance, to settle the score. He gasped, grasping for words he barely had the strength to speak, _"And I... am not your enemy! Not your destroyer! I am... as before... your right hand! Your sword!"_

He nearly collapsed again, but Kain held him up by his shoulder. He could no longer make out his expression. His voice was muted, just audible enough for him to make out the words: "No, Raziel! This can't be the way..."

Suddenly his spirit bloomed with an intense rush of love and camaraderie for this man, so great that the pure elation of this moment swept through his entire being, the turmoil of the past forgotten; this would be his final stand, side by side with his maker, his father, and commander - Kain!

If these were to be his final moments, he would leave this world with no regrets. All the energy he wasted trying to kill Kain now seemed irrelevant. There were greater evils at work in Nosgoth than he ever could have imagined as a vampire. In deference to these threats, he surrendered all that he ever was to his former enemy so that Kain could use his soul as a holy weapon against the invisible Oracle.

He had changed sides so many times. In ignorance, under the guidance of his Benefactor, he had slaughtered his brothers and killed hundreds of his former kin. He had trusted the council of demons and deceivers and put his faith in a shadow of his past that turned out to be just as righteously depraved and hopelessly misguided as he. And now, here at last at the end of his life, this black, broken compass he called his heart finally pointed true; to the last road he would ever travel down.

And that was just fine by Raziel.

He forced himself to meet Kain's eyes one final time. This was it. His final message to his master. Their last moment together, brothers in arms at the end. _"And now… you will see… the true enemy…"_

His head slumped to the side, vision fading in and out in quick flashes. He had the sense that someone was moving him, trying to prop him up, but his numb body issued no response.

Kain's face was a shapeless blur cloaked in deepening darkness. What was he saying? He sounded so far away now, like everything else.

Everything was fading.

His mind was fading.

He gasped weakly, so hard he knew he could not do it again. His chest was too heavy. Everything was going…

...

Darkness engulfed him.

Suddenly, Raziel was falling.

Rushing toward a light.

Then tumbling through bright nothingness.

It was the abyss again.

But it was not the abyss.

There was no pain here, only a sense of confinement and hunger.

Panic slowly subsided.

The distance between his thoughts was farther than the stars.

He heard whispering voices.

Who were they?

What were they?

What did they want?

Sometimes they frightened him.

Sometimes they comforted him.

Were they talking to him?

What were they saying?

Had it always been this way?

Was this home?

What was that other place?

What other place?

He liked it here.

It was peaceful.

He was home.

Everything started to go dark again...

...

"Gah!" Raziel gasped, writhing on the hard ground. Every breath he took sent an arch of pain through his body. The world was bright and full of pain. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut again and again, tensing and un-tensing, involuntarily shaking, choking on dust, whimpering, flinching at soft noises, reeling with chaotic thoughts and fears. Everything was too loud, too bright, too rough, too enormous. He wanted to go back to the peaceful place he was before. The quiet, confined place where he had curled up safe from the horrors of this strange world.

Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking at the cold grey ground. All was dark. He was naked and lying in a fetal position. Had he been before?

He felt sick, but his stomach was empty and his throat baked dry.

An object stood in front of him, taking up most of his field of vision. Some kind of shiny stone. Metallic. White stone and metal. A kind of support structure - a pillar. Raziel's eyes followed it along its length. As the pillar rose higher into the sky his head turned automatically to take it in, yet it was still not enough. He arduously rolled onto his back. Settled into his new position with a weak sigh, he stared upward. The pillar was joined by other pillars. They rose infinitely into the cloudy sky, vanishing beyond his sight. Raziel was certain he had never seen anything like it.

He swallowed painfully, gripped by a familiar hunger. A tongue scratched at his lips and retreated inside his mouth. He moved his jaw back and forth, feeling the bones click in place. He started to chuckle hoarsely, unable to stop in spite of the pain it caused. Incredulous, he whispered to anyone who might hear, "What... what is this...?"

He clenched his jaw with immense satisfaction and swallowed his laughter. This could not be real.

He scratched the earth with his claws. He tried to move his legs, managing only to flex his knees and drag his feet a few centimeters. Everything seemed to be working, more or less. Why did he feel like he was lying on top of something? With enormous effort he dug his claws into the ground and managed to pull himself up. Balanced on his elbows, he turned his head and saw...

No.

Surely not.

Surely.

Overcome with rapture, Raziel quivered and choked back a dry sob. They were the same beautiful shade of ivory white as the first time he saw them; filthy, but whole and wonderful. Were his wings this large before Kain...? Raziel went still.

He tilted back his head and gazed up at the towering Pillars of Nosgoth. In front of him stood the Pillar of Balance and, behind him, the Pillar of Time. Pristine. Pure. How could he not have recognized them? What period was he in now? And how did he get here? Lowering his gaze, he spotted the shattered remains of Kain's throne in front of him and realized where and when he was. Whatever forces repaired the Pillars had also destroyed Kain's seat of power. Though the Sanctuary of the Clans still stood most of the roof had collapsed when the Pillars rose, surrounding him with debris. All was silent. Raziel felt very small.

Was this real? Desperately he closed his eyes and went over the course of events leading up to this moment. It all started on that terrible day at the meeting of the council in this very room, when Kain tore the wings from his back and cast him into the abyss at the Lake of the Dead. That had to be true. His back still tensed involuntarily when he thought of it.

Then came his resurrection as a wraith, a soul devouring corpse of his former self, his attainment of the wraith blade, and a whirlwind of hatred, bloodshed, and vengeance culminating in his confrontation with Kain in the Chronoplast. He chased Kain back through time and... and... then things got hazy. He swallowed and swore he felt the skin of his throat crack. Moebius, Vorador, the Reaver, Janos Audron, an Ancient prophecy, the countless paradoxes, the Reaver forges in the Vampire Citadel, the Hylden... it was all a blur. The last thing he remembered was seeing Kain in the Spirit forge in the Vampire Citadel as the Reaver absorbed him... then... not nothing, _something_... He strained to remember and felt his head grow light. He felt even weaker than on the night Kain raised him, as if he had trudged through all seven layers of hell and collapsed on the other side of purgatory.

Suddenly, he heard someone pushing through the debris in front of him. He blinked as his eyes struggled to focus. Though the Sanctuary ruins blocked his view, he did not need to guess who was responsible for disturbing his peace. Raziel's voice barely cracked above a whisper. If Kain couldn't find him, he doubted he could stand on his own. "Kain... Kain... _Kain!"_

Raziel recognized the click of metal as Kain readied his weapon. "Who's there!?"

Taking a deep breath, he called as loudly as he could, "Who do you think, you bastard!"

"Raziel?"

Raziel hissed triumphantly. Kain shoved aside the rubble and gaped at him. He ran towards him and wrenched him to his feet before he was ready, making his head spin. "Raziel! My god, it is you! How did you get here?"

He clung to Kain's shoulder as his legs failed him yet again. Kain laughed, adjusting his arms to better support Raziel's failing body. Judging by the smug look on Kain's face, he found their current position embarrassingly amusing. "Easy now. Easy. You look like you're about to fall over."

"Yes," Raziel wheezed. He grimaced as Kain clapped his shoulder.

"We did it, Raziel! Do you see? The Ancients' false god is dead. The Pillars are restored. Nosgoth will live again. And at last, I have reclaimed my true destiny as Nosgoth's Balance Guardian."

"That's good..." He shut his eyes against Kain's shoulder. Somehow Kain's exuberance only deepened his exhaustion. The need to sleep outweighed his aggressive hunger and for the first time in centuries he felt himself nodding off.

Kain sighed and pulled his arm over his back. Raziel grabbed hold of the leather strap on Kain's shoulder and clenched it tightly, afraid Kain would let him fall if he did not at least try to carry his own weight. Something cold and hard brushed against the back of his arm. "I'll tell you about it later," Kain conceded. "You can rest in my chamber until your strength returns." As they started to move, Raziel tried to keep his feet from dragging on the ground.

Prying open his eyes, he found himself staring at the hilt of the Soul Reaver. It startled him, though in his weakness his fear went unnoticed. The Soul Reaver gazed back silently, impotently. Looking at it filled him with dread, yet he was too terrified of what might happen if he took his eyes away from it for more than a second to allow himself any rest. The eyes of the vampiric skull on the Soul Reaver's hilt glowed an eerily familiar shade of spectral blue. It looked exactly as it had the last time he saw it, in the Sanctuary of the Clans moments before Kain shattered it over him; when it still contained his twin soul, the wraith blade. If the wraith blade was now contained in the Soul Reaver, what was he doing out here?

That question would need to remain unanswered for now. It took all of his strength simply not to pass out.

If this was real, this could be his last chance. This time the Soul Reaver did not seem intent on stealing his soul. Kain, however, might have other ideas.


	2. Raziel is Chosen

**AN:** This chapter was updated and _heavily edited_ on 4/6/13. I originally wrote this chapter when Time Streamer was a much shorter project called Epilogue. As I continued writing, I've felt an ever increasing desire to go back and make some changes to this chapter. Hopefully it fits in better with the rest of the story now.

* * *

What happened between the reunion at the Pillars and Raziel's awakening in Kain's bedchamber was all a blur. He awoke curled up in a fetal position beneath the once luxurious bed sheets, a pillow clutched over his head like a shield, his wings pulled tight against his body. Would he ever feel comfortable in open spaces again? Or maybe it was Kain he feared...

As of this moment he was no longer of any use to Kain. He had fulfilled his role as the purifying spirit of the Soul Reaver and set Nosgoth's destiny on a new course. The last time Kain realized he no longer needed him, he found himself being hurled into a watery grave. Nor had he forgotten about the fate of the other clans, neglected and left to rot. By accepting Kain's help he may have sealed his doom.

Vampires did not normally dream. They did not normally sleep either, unless they were in a terrible state. So it came as a surprise to Raziel that, as he lay there, he remembered a dream:

_I am lying at the foot of the Pillars. The sky swirls above me. A whirlpool of blue breaks through Nosgoth's polluted skies and, for the first time in memory, I see the sun. As quickly as it appears the sun's light is washed away by dark, thunderous clouds. Rain pours over Nosgoth. The water feels cool and good on my face. As the clouds part once more, I smell lilac, lilies, and orchids, and sunlight covers me in warm embrace. _

Though it was his first dream, it was a strange dream nonetheless. He wondered if dreams were normally so vivid. For some reason, it felt like it was trying to tell him something... No, he was sure of it. But what could it mean?

Hunger finally drove Raziel out from beneath Kain's sheets. Though rest restored some of his strength, he felt as though he had been quietly starving for blood during his time as a wraith and never noticed. Bedraggled, his long, black hair covered his face. He swept it back and started.

"It's about time."

Raziel jumped, right arm poised to attack with the wraith blade. Except there was no wraith blade. This put him at a considerable disadvantage against Kain, standing in the doorway with the Soul Reaver casually mounted on his back. Even sheathed the blade was far more intimidating to him than Kain realized. Now that his destiny had run its course he truly had no idea what Kain's sword would do to him. It couldn't be good.

"You've been out cold for three days. Put your clothes on. I have a present for you." Kain's informal tone failed to inspire confidence. Raziel eyed him tensely and did not relax until his footsteps faded down the hall.

With his master gone, Raziel paused to inspect himself. His skin (he had skin again) was alabaster white and smooth. The rusty boots and filthy, ripped gauntlets that followed him through the abyss were gone, as was the muddied sash bearing the mark of his clan, which he had worn as a cowl for so long. He touched his chin. As his fingers reached his mouth his lips pressed together and the muscles of his face tightened severely. He wanted a mirror.

Looking over his shoulder, he noticed a tarnished cheval mirror in the corner of the Kain's room. The vampire in the mirror widened his jasmine eyes and flexed his folded wings. His lips parted around a soundless gasp. That was him. That was Raziel.

He had been - _was_ handsome. But it was the little things, the way his cheek bones stood out over his delicate jawline, how his teeth barely showed through the space between his lips, the total absence of blue marking the contrast between his white skin and dark eyelashes, and the way the jasmine yellow of his eyes seemed to shine brighter around his pupils that made him feel, all of a sudden, so fragile and grateful to be alive. His eyes stung as he looked away. Swallowing a silent whimper, he wiped at his eyes and brushed his dark bangs behind his pointed ears.

Had he forgotten what he looked like? Apparently so. As he dressed he consciously avoided the mirror's gaze, afraid that _other _Raziel might stare back at him instead.

Wearing the clothes Kain left for him, he followed his master toward the private slave quarters beneath the Sanctuary of the Clans. He had given up on wearing the shirt. Although it was loose enough to fit over his wings, the sense of something unseen brushing against his wings filled him with such anxiety that he was forced to discard it. As they walked down the hall, his eyes never left the Soul Reaver. It seemed to glare at him.

Kain instructed him to wait outside the room. He crossed his arms displeasureably. Did Kain expect him to decimate his entire supply? If Kain knew for how many centuries he resisted the temptations of his Benefactor during his imprisonment in the Spectral Realm, he would not treat him so childishly.

Moments later, Kain returned and unceremoniously threw a female slave into his arms. Under different circumstances he would have hesitated to harm the frightened young woman, for he was now thoroughly acquainted with the agony of slaves. He was also starving. Her blood soothed his aching throat.

"Why do we still need blood?" he asked as they headed back up the stairs.

"The Hylden's curse transcends the Pillars, Raziel. Have you forgotten already?"

Raziel shook his head. He hoped Kain would have a better answer than that. Knowing what he knew now, Raziel was eager to be rid of this curse. Kain, being Kain, probably felt differently. He doubted it was even on his agenda.

The Soul Reaver glared back at him. Kain went on talking, but Raziel only half-paid attention. He already knew what Kain had been doing while he was in a coma. It was simply because they knew each other so well.

"While you were resting, I rallied the remnants of the clans gathered outside the Sanctuary. With these forces, we should have no problem finding the rest of the Pillar Guardians and beginning my new empire. I'm keeping your return secret for now. Considering how many vampires you've killed, I'm not sure what they would do if they discovered you were still alive. Until I find a solution for this problem, you'll have to stay hidden here."

He did not reply at first. Instead, he wondered how Kain intended to stop him. "What will you do when you find the new Guardians?" he asked simply to keep the conversation going. He did not want Kain to suspect he was thinking about escape.

"Capture them, of course. The Pillars belong to us now, as they should, and it is up to us to pass our bloodline to their new Guardians. This is the only way to keep the Hylden banished."

Raziel listened cynically. As Janos told him, the binding created by the Pillars relied on vampires for its strength. With human Guardians in charge of the Pillars the binding slowly decayed, allowing for the infiltration of the Circle by Hylden forces and causing the corruption that so recently plagued Nosgoth. "That isn't going to work. The humans will reject the Dark Gift. It's happened before."

"I know. I've read the histories in the Vampire Citadel. I don't intend to repeat the mistakes of the past."

Keeping his thoughts to himself for the time being, Raziel glared at the Soul Reaver from beneath his wrinkled brow. He was all too familiar with Kain's prime method of leadership. As long as Kain possessed the Soul Reaver he could rule by fear alone. If he could not control his fellow Guardians, then their victory was only temporary.

Perhaps Kain believed the Ancients treated humankind too kindly. Having seen the Hylden authored histories beneath Avernus Cathedral, which painted the Ancient vampires in a less than favorable light, Raziel felt a palpable distaste for both sides of this arcane war and an eagerness to leave the wretched past behind in Nosgoth's wasteland. Two monstrous races fighting for control of Nosgoth, no different than humans and vampires; their wars served only to create suffering and death to feed his Benefactor, the Hub of Nosgoth's cruel Wheel of Fate. He cringed to recall the blind centuries he wasted fighting Kain's wars.

Only Janos seemed deserving of redemption. Now that he was free, he intended to rectify his mistake in the Vampire Citadel. He would find out what became of Janos Audron and rescue him from his horrid fate at the hands of the Hylden. Everyone else could go to hell.

They arrived at the Pillars, the former seat of Kain's empire. The debris from the ceiling had been cleared since he was last here and he could see more clearly how much of the Sanctuary had survived. Though the domed ceiling had collapsed entirely most of the chamber remained intact, including part of the second level. As they entered, Raziel scanned the symbols of the clans etched into the walls with a hollow heart. Circling the Balance Pillar, Kain arrogantly ran his claws along the smooth white stone, posing with it as if the restored Pillars were nothing more than a conquest of war, another notch on his belt. "Aren't they beautiful, Raziel?"

Recalling his dream, Raziel's eyes followed the marble Pillars into Nosgoth's smoky sky. Yes, the Pillars were beautiful. Their magnificence magnified the ugliness of this world. He turned to Kain pointedly. "What happened while I was in the sword?"

Kain's golden eyes sparked. During the thousand years he served as Kain's first lieutenant, Raziel became intimately familiar with his master's passion for self-aggrandizement. He mentally prepared himself for a long sermon.

"After you purified the Soul Reaver, the vampire's ancient Oracle was revealed to me. It tried to bury us, no doubt sensing Its imminent doom, but It was no match."

Raziel scoffed. _Us._ Did he still believe they were on the same side after everything he had done to destroy Raziel's faith in him?

Kain described the battle in impeccable detail. His ability to tell a good story usually made up for his boastfulness, yet there was something eerily familiar about this tale. He felt as though he knew exactly what Kain would say before he said it, as if he had somehow been present. Predictably, Kain continued, "Of course, I knew better than to deliver the finishing blow in that time period. I returned to the northern Chronoplast and set the device to send me back to Nosgoth's present era, where I destroyed the fiend once and for all."

"I applaud your bravado," Raziel said sarcastically. "And what of the Pillars? How were they restored?"

Kain appeared only mildly irritated by his tone. He crossed his arms. "During the months it took to destroy every last trace of the Oracle, I uncovered a subterranean chamber beneath the Pillars themselves. I used the Soul Reaver to gain entry. Once the Oracle had been sufficiently weakened I was able to descend deep into the chamber. There, at the very roots of the Pillars, I discovered an unusual device attuned to the Reaver's magic. By inserting the blade, the Soul Reaver was able to purify and restore the Pillars."

Something Kain said at the beginning stuck in Raziel's mind. He tried to disguise his nerves. "How long was I inside the sword?"

"Almost four weeks, I think," he answered, unconcerned.

Raziel felt slightly ill. No - in fact, he felt definitely ill. Of course, he expected Kain to tell him that he had been in the Reaver for some time, but he had not really _believed._ He swallowed hard and tried to steady himself. "And you're sure that It's dead…?" he said distractedly.

_Almost four weeks, I think_, Kain said, as if an entire month trapped inside a soul devouring blade should have no effect on him! The wraith blade was his twin soul – but it was also a ravenous parasite, barely any different than his Benefactor. With their cyclical destinies, countless versions of himself had been trapped within the blade. Millions, perhaps billions of cycles had been completed before Raziel made the crucial choice that allowed him to escape that sick purgatory. But at what cost?

"Raziel?"

Kain's clawed hand lightly touched his arm. Immediately his thoughts flashed to the last Council here in the Sanctuary, when Kain personally tore the wings from his back. Snapping out of his trance, Raziel violently smacked Kain away, fangs gleaming like drawn swords. "Keep your goddamn hands off of me! I haven't forgotten about the abyss - or my clan!"

Kain balked at him, outraged. "Do you _still_ believe I had a choice!?"

Raziel railed, "Damn your fatalism, Kain! My death may have been necessary, but it was you who chose the method of my execution! Cast into the Lake of the Dead to burn with the likes of traitors and weaklings – is that the fate I deserved!?" Kain tried to interrupt, but Raziel cut him off like a man possessed, "I gave you a thousand years of loyal service and you threw me into the abyss like a piece of refuse - without even the consideration to tell me why! Would it have stretched fate too much to let me die with dignity? Could you not even look me in the eyes? Do you have any idea of the hell you put me through!?"

Kain shook his head dismissively. "The past doesn't matter! We have more important –"

"No, Kain! There is no 'we' anymore," Raziel snapped. He could barely keep himself under control. "Our alliance ended after I purified the Soul Reaver. Now that I've played out my part, I never want to see you again."

Kain raised his eyebrows. "After everything you said?"

This accusation threw him off balance. He never expected Kain to remember or care about his final, heartfelt words in the Vampire Citadel. But Kain didn't care, did he? He only brought it up because he knew that presenting him with the hypocrisy of his actions would get under his skin. They knew each other all too well. "I was dying, Kain. It was different. And you're lucky I don't kill you where you stand."

"I don't expect your forgiveness, Raziel," Kain sighed in his long-suffering tone. "But you and I both know we cannot simply go our separate ways. Can you not sense how we have changed?"

Raziel groaned, "Oh for god's sake, I can't bear to suffer through another one of your expositional monologues! Please, if you have any mercy, let me leave in peace."

Kain narrowed his eyes. Raziel did not like that look. "I expect you already know what I'm going to say…"

He took a step back, shocked. Indeed, he had been unusually perceptive during their conversation – one might even say, _preternaturally_ so. And of course, he did know what Kain would say next. That did not mean he wanted to believe it. Fate, however, was cold to his fears.

Kain continued, "The Pillar Guardians are all closely inter-connected. At the instant the Pillars healed, I sensed the birth of their new Guardians. That was why I came here first. I didn't know who or what I expected to find, but honestly, I couldn't have chosen any better myself. Raziel: Savior of Nosgoth, Champion of Freewill, Conqueror of False Histories; who better to safeguard Nosgoth's time stream?"

Frightened, he backed away from Kain and flinched when his wings touched a wall. "No… How is that even possible? The Pillars are supposed to choose their Guardians at birth - I -"

"- Have just been reborn." Kain closed the distance between them, almost taunting, "You would know better than I, Time Streamer. _Think._ History is at your fingertips."

Against his will the answer bubbled to the forefront of his mind. The energy of the purified Soul Reaver used to restore the Pillars also contained his soul. When he last saw the Pillars in this time period they were shattered, broken at the base. If the energy of the Spirit Reaver could restore the ruined stumps of the Pillars to their full size, then it could also be channeled for other purposes by the Pillars themselves. The recent past unfolded itself before his eyes: the white arch of the Soul Reaver's energy ascended the Pillars, bathing the Sanctuary in blinding light. As the light faded a winged body appeared at the base of the Pillar of Time. Raziel collapsed against the wall, trembling, ignorant of the stone crowding his sensitive wings, holding his head in his hands. "No! This can't be! I don't want this!"

"You have no more choice than I do!" Kain said callously. "As you said, the Pillars choose their Guardians. After all the time you spent trying to escape the Reaver I assumed you'd be more grateful."

"This isn't freedom," Raziel spat. Instead of being imprisoned in steel he found himself bound against his will by stone. The Sarafan, Kain, his Benefactor, Moebius, the Hyldan, the Pillars of Nosgoth; no matter how far he traveled in time and space, someone or something always made him its pawn. Would he never be free to exercise his own will? He shook his head in despair. "Leave me. I can't think with you here."

"I don't trust you alone." He was not surprised when his old master refused to honor his wishes. Perhaps Kain intended his words to be comforting, to show concern and desire to help in his usual, maladroit way. Their effect was the opposite. Raziel glared at him, his lips peeled back in raw anger, fists balled tightly against the wall. Once more he felt cornered as if they were back in Avernus about to kill each other. Then he remembered something that made the corners of his mouth curl upward in a wicked smile.

"You haven't got a choice. There's a task you need to complete – that you _will _complete, for me. And you will do it now." A quiet growl of laughter grew in his throat as he watched Kain's expression shift. He pointed at the sky. "Look up there. The Pillars cannot heal Nosgoth while our machines blot out the sun. You must go to the smoke stacks and disable them. Permanently."

For the first time, Kain seemed hesitant. Raziel liked the look of unease in his eyes. It was hard not to laugh at him. He jeered, "Is the Scion of Balance questioning destiny?"

Long ago Kain's glare would have given him pause to reconsider his actions. Vampires who did not treat Kain's temper with fearful respect ended their lives on the Soul Reaver's blade. But even if Raziel feared death, he could now see the strings of history holding Kain back. No matter how much Kain tried to intimidate him, Raziel knew that he was sound without fury. And Kain knew that he knew. And it humiliated him. In a feeble attempt to assert himself, Kain shook Raziel by the shoulders while he laughed hysterically in his master's face. "Control yourself! Do you have any idea –"

"How serious this is!?" Raziel crowed, cutting him off. He nodded, delighted. "Yes! I'm laughing because – for the first time in your life – I'm the one pulling your strings."

"It's not the first time. Don't let this go to your head. Remember Moebius," Kain growled, but his fruitless anger only amused him.

Raziel chortled. "Moebius!?" he exclaimed, almost flattered.

"Raziel!"

"If this goes on much longer you might start to bore me." He pushed Kain away, grinning. "You're wasting your breath. I already know that in a few minutes you're going to sulk out of here and complete your errand, so you may as forget about trying to threaten me. By the way, you do succeed." He was chuckling.

Kain sneered. "You do realize what this will kill many vampires…"

Laughter slowly dying, Raziel cocked his head. Was Kain pretending to have a crisis of conscious? How cute. "Yes. Do you expect me to believe this sudden concern is genuine? Kain…"

"The clans do outnumber us. They will not go along with your plans quietly."

"It doesn't matter. Without leadership the remnants of the clans are too disorganized to pose us any threat. Besides, they're corrupted, perfect vessels for the Hylden. They need to be destroyed. If any of them disobeys you, you may execute them."

"That's unusually heartless for you," Kain replied sourly.

Raziel frowned. Kain was trying to manipulate him into second guessing himself again. "It shouldn't surprise you."

"And will you be here when I return?" he asked, tired and unamused.

Kain was only pretending to be in control now. He could see the unease in his eyes, his master's barely concealed indignation. The puppet had become the puppeteer. He smiled slyly. "I wouldn't want to spoil all your surprises. Go."

"Stay here, Raziel. It's not safe for you out there. I can't afford to lose you again." Raziel scoffed at Kain's disingenuousness. Kain bared his teeth, nearing the edge of his patience. "This isn't a sentimental request! If you die the Time Pillar will fall back into human hands – think of the consequences of that. Do you think your resurrection here was an accident? The Pillars chose you for a reason. In all of Nosgoth, you are the only one capable of shouldering this responsibility."

"Yet you distrust me."

"I have more faith in you than you realize. Don't disappoint me." Raziel recognized the implied threat as Kain left the throne room. He let him go without looking back. As he tried to uncover what Kain had in mind for him he discovered with a twinge of apprehension that he could not see far enough into the future to discover whether Kain would carry out his warning. He did not doubt that Kain could kill him if he wanted to. His execution at the abyss was proof enough of that.

But Kain was right. Allowing the Time Pillar to fall into the hands of another human guardian could be disastrous. Would Kain risk creating another Moebius if he displeased him? And most importantly, if Kain did choose to destroy him in the future, did he still possess the freewill to change his fate? Now that he had power, he would not willingly submit to living under Kain's boot again.

Pacing in front of the Pillars, Raziel wondered if Moebius's omniscience had been so blunted all along. His dream assured him that Kain would succeed at shutting down the smoke stacks, he felt certain of that, yet when he tried to peer into the future now his sight faltered, for he could only witness his _own _future by will and only look ahead an hour or so at most. Though this gave him his next move, the limitations of his sight frustrated him. He paused in front of the Time Pillar and eyed its hourglass symbol with disappointment. Moebius truly was a con-artist. In order to keep the upper hand over Kain, he would need to be cunning as well. Deception was not his usual _modus operandi. _Trickery was the weapon of the crude and cowardly.

Still, if Kain knew the limitations of his unassisted sight he would undoubtedly find ways to control it. Raziel could not allow that.

Heading deeper into the Sanctuary, Raziel selected a quarterstaff with a steel-spiked tip from the armory, along with armored boots and gauntlets. He smoothed his unkempt, black hair with his claws and tied it back with a bit of twine, tucking his bangs behind his pointed ears. Something was missing. Taking down an old Razielim flag, he shook out the dust and tied it to the top of his quarterstaff. There was no hiding his appearance from the other clans. If he encountered any vampires on his journey they would recognize him immediately by his wings and semi-human appearance. He would meet his adversaries boldly, bearing the same symbol he wore when he sent their corrupted souls to the Wheel, so as to strike fear in their hearts.

Despite his self-assured success, his heart pounded as he returned to the Pillars and stood before them as he had once long ago.

Raziel unfurled his wings. They were indeed larger than he remembered. He braced himself, pushed backward by the forces they stirred when he flexed them. When he first tried to fly, before Kain tore the wings from his body, he had not made impressive progress. Now, having seen Janos take to the air, he knew what he needed to do. Achieving lift required more than flapping up and down. Forward motion was also required. He scooped the air, drawing it back like a paddle through water.

The difficulty of taking off from a standing position was still too great for his wings to compensate. Deciding to take a different approach, he climbed to the second level of the throne room using the gift he had stolen from his brother Zephon (it pleased him to see he still retained the benefits of his brothers' souls).

Using the hallway on the second level to give himself a running start, he sprinted for the edge of the balcony and leapt into the air. The air billowed in the leathery sails of his wings. He flapped, wobbling higher as he fought for balance. As he banked into a turn he spun out of control and crash landed in front of the Pillars. He pushed himself to his knees, shaking himself off and testing his wings. Nothing broken, just as he expected. Nonetheless, the flight and the crash were far more thrilling than his vision prepared him for. He picked himself up and tried again.

Finally, on his fourth attempt, Raziel soared into the sky. It was everything he always imagined it would be. With the wind beating against him, he circled the Pillars and headed north east toward the Oracle's Cave.


	3. Entangled Destinies

Smoke blackened Nosgoth's skies. Landing on the outer wall of Dumah's ruined city, Raziel paused to rest. Looking down from the battlements, he noticed cloven footprints in the ashen courtyard below – _his_ footprints, partially obscured by white ash. He gazed at them in silence, staring into the face of a ghost from long ago. Yet it was only a short time ago that he entered this place with revenge in his heart, disfigured from the abyss. Strange, strange world.

He listened to the silence, fully expecting to hear the booming voice of his Benefactor scold him for his disobedience. The wraith blade, the spiritual embodiment of the Soul Reaver, which he had carried with him for so long, no longer watched over him; its absence like a phantom limb. Kain, Janos, Moebius, Ariel: all the voices that sought to control and guide him throughout his long journey had abandoned him. He had forgotten what it felt like to be alone with himself.

It felt empty.

He lingered on Dumah's battlements, eyes closed, a gentle wind drifting over his bare shoulders, the Razielim banner fluttering in his ear. The emptiness of this moment settled over him, desolate and anxious. No unseen voice urged him on. No manipulator emerged from the shadows to kick him down the path of destiny. He sighed. "It's just me."

Raziel frowned. Why was he going to the Oracle's Cave? With the powers of a Time Streamer he could see far enough into the future to outrun Kain forever, at least in theory. Did he want to be snared in fate's cruel web again? Or had he already been caught? Was he still a passenger on the current of history or the master of his fate?

Even Moebius was bound to the Wheel of Fate. He recalled the Time Streamer's words at their first meeting in the Sarafan Stronghold, nearly two thousand years ago (and yet so recent in memory): _Perhaps you should, my boy… but you don't. No, you don't kill me. That honor belongs to your maker, Kain, some thirty years from now. _Moebius, the great puppeteer, was himself a marionette manipulated by even greater hands.

But Moebius's omniscience had failed him at the end, hadn't it? When their mutual Benefactor resurrected Moebius after his murder and called him to the Vampire Citadel, Moebius had no idea that Kain would return to finish him off a second time. Even his Benefactor, the self-proclaimed Hub of the Wheel, had no idea what events It would set in motion by summoning Moebius to the Citadel. Something had changed.

Raziel licked his lips and clicked his jaw. Though his thoughts were bleak and weighty, this simple action gave him pleasure. He could do it all day. Again, his mind turned to Kain.

In the distance, Nosgoth's smoke stacks churned like the engines of hell. From this vantage point their outlines faded into the pollution of their own making, shadows of shadows. Kain should be there now. He did not know how long it would take him to disable them. Until he reached the Oracle's Cave and accessed Moebius's devices, he could only see a short time into his own future. He had already foreseen his battle with the three Turelim stationed outside the Oracle's Cave. Did Kain know his next move or simply assume disobedience? Hard to say.

If Kain had used the divining instruments within the Oracle's Cave while he was unconscious, he should have foreseen that the three Turelim guards would die at his hands. However, fatalistic as Kain was, Raziel could not imagine he would have acted any differently. If Moebius's divining instruments told him he would place three Turelim guards outside of the Oracle's Cave, then he would do just that. He seethed with quiet fury over his master's willingness to sacrifice his children for no purpose other than to play out his role in history and wondered if, perhaps, fate was merely a convenient excuse for Kain's wanton violence.

_I have more faith in you than you realize, _Kain had said. Raziel scoffed. Clearly, faith never had anything to do with it.

...

As he entered the cave, he saw blood on the ground from his battles with the Dumahim when he was still a wraith. During his pursuit of destiny, he had completely lost track of time. This was partially due to the number of times he passed through one of Moebius's time travel devices - the Chronoplasts - but mostly due to his five centuries of imprisonment in the Spectral Realm. Time moved differently there.

The doors he had unlocked on his first passage had not been re-sealed. Perhaps doing so would have caused Kain too much trouble, but this was strange; why would Kain leave them open if he expected him to return? He decided not to dwell on Kain's motives. His master must have come here for guidance after his resurrection. That he would do otherwise was unthinkable. Although Moebius was long dead, his time streaming instruments functioned without him.

Finally, he came to the chamber containing Moebius's cauldron. Thousands of years ago, Kain had come to this same spot seeking the Time Streamer's advice. Now Raziel followed in his maker's footsteps. How poetic, he thought bitterly.

This time Moebius's cauldron was not lit. White ashes filled the fire pit. At first glance, this appeared to be the end of the Oracle's Cave. Raziel knew better. This was merely the place where Moebius laid his trap for the fearful and gullible masses, enticing them with promises of knowledge and fortune that, somehow, always came to the old man's advantage.

However, the secret passage which led deeper into the Oracle's Cave had been closed since he last passed this way. So Kain had come here, just as he expected. Activating the secret switch, the walls of the chamber spun to reveal entry.

The first room he entered was an enormous, circular chamber, empty and silent except for the echos of his footsteps. The chamber's centerpiece was a gigantic clockwork mechanism of some kind. Raziel wondered if it had something to do with the time traveling room many floors below. Everything in the Oracle's Cave to blurred the lines between magic and technology so that they became one in the same. As he circled the chamber he suddenly paused, recognizing a familiar face. Raziel approached the statue with narrowed eyes.

Moebius. This representation of the Time Streamer had not impressed him much on his first passage through this chamber. After meeting the man himself, even this statue inspired a certain wariness, particularly that staff which held such enormous power over the wraith blade and other vampires; the actual staff now buried beneath a pile of rubble. He looked upon the statue with a disdainful smirk. "I'll have to have this replaced," he muttered, amusing himself and going on his way.

Deep inside the elaborate, underground complex, Raziel stood in front of one of Moebius's divining instruments, the same one he had passed on his first journey into the Oracle's Cave in pursuit of Kain. This device resembled an ornate gold-rimmed window open to a starry night. The stars undulated like reflections on the surface of a pond. He recalled the chilling images conjured here by Kain, foretelling his past and future like images carved in stone. The finality of those images still tormented him.

Curiously, Raziel's visions came to a dead stop at this moment. Though he feared the worst, he prided himself on overcoming fears. Perhaps he could not see this far into his future because if he already knew what he would discover he would not have gone into the Oracle's Cave in the first place, creating a paradox.

Raziel steeled himself. As he gazed through this window the stars seemed to reach out to him, shrouding his vision in darkness, showing him a glimpse of the time stream like a magic lantern projecting onto a black sheet:

_I awake in a strange place shrouded in eerie shadows of blue and green. The walls of the chamber pulse as if alive. I remember agony, despair, betrayal... My body is ruined, repulsive. I cover my face in shame. Suddenly, something speaks to me:_

_RAZIEL, YOU ARE WORTHY._

Raziel jumped as if electrocuted. His mind snapped back to the present and the sound of his own breathing. Chidingly, he reminded himself that the voice he heard was merely a ghost of the past. It could not influence him...

Were these the same visions he received the first time he entered this room? If Kain came to the Oracle's Cave to use these windows, why would he view these scenes again now that their destinies were complete? Returning his gaze to the mirror, the visions continued:

_I am on my knees in the Sanctuary of the Clans. Kain towers over me, poised to strike me down with the Soul Reaver. I reach out to him imploringly, the first time I have begged for mercy. As he brings the Soul Reaver down upon me the blade shatters and my spirit fades into the Spectral Realm. There, the soul devouring spirit of the Reaver stands before me. I am compelled to pick it up. The spirit of the Reaver fuses to my right arm, becoming my symbiotic weapon: the wraith blade._

_Now Kain and I are standing in the Sarafan Stronghold, some two-thousand years in the past. He hands me an older incarnation of the physical Soul Reaver, still possessed by its soul devouring spirit - _my_ own soul - and the room wobbles from the temporal distortion as my wraith blade meets its paradoxical twin. Destiny and freewill are about to collide.  
_

As he pulled himself away from the window he found himself laughing. At long last he understood. All this time, he had been wrong. He held his face in his claws and leaned against the wall, nearly collapsing from hysteria. "My god! He never knew! The entire time... he never _knew!"_

The visions he saw the first time he passed through this chamber were not conjured by Kain. They were the same visions Kain saw when he found his way into this chamber centuries ago, a carefully laid trap to lure him into the past so that the Soul Reaver's cyclical history could be completed set up centuries in advance by the grand puppeteer Moebius. Oh, he saw the beauty of it now.

Kain, inspired by the prophecies of a corrupted Time Streamer, cast his eldest son into the Lake of the Dead; then, re-born as a wraith, this child fused with the soul devouring spirit of the Soul Reaver (himself) and blindly chased his maker into the past; there Kain would die, killed by the physical Soul Reaver's ancient twin, and Raziel would be absorbed into the blade to become its soul devouring spirit. Thus the serpent devoured its own tail, the Ouroboros complete.

But Kain did not know how to manipulate the visions Moebius left for him like bread crumbs. He only knew how to use the time streaming chamber to journey into the past. All this time, he believed that it was Kain who wanted to manipulate destiny. No, it was Destiny manipulating Kain! Raziel sank to the floor, possessed by the hilarious irony of the truth. His laughter echoed off the walls of Moebius's complex. He could almost hear the old man laughing with him, two Time Streamers sharing in a grand joke across the centuries.

Suddenly Raziel began to sob. Destiny - not Kain - had thrown him into the abyss. Destiny made him a pawn of history and a martyr. He had 'chosen' to spare Kain at the moment when Destiny said he would die, yet despite his 'gift' of freewill he had never been capable of disentangling himself from Destiny in any significant sense. Redeemer and Destroyer, Pawn and Messiah: these were and would always be his only choices. He could be either or both, but he could not choose to be neither. Did his freewill matter, if he still possessed it, if Destiny designed itself with such cruel absolution?

He needed to know. Dragging himself to his feet, his chin dripping with oily tears, he leaned against the device and compelled it to show him the future. The device did not respond. Raziel banged his fist against the frame and cursed at it. He bit back his tears. Backing away from the device, he wiped his cheeks with the back of his arm and breathed deeply as he groped for calming thoughts. He could not beat Moebius's device into submission with his fists. There must be a way...

Looking into the future was like remembering in reverse. He could not do it automatically. Like looking into a memory, he saw himself going to the statue of Moebius in the clockwork room minutes from now. History unfolded itself to him in broad strokes. The details were fuzzy, but they gave him all the clues he needed to solve this puzzle.

Picking up his stave, he marched toward the clockwork room and investigated the statue of the long dead Time Streamer. Moebius's staff caught his eye. He grabbed it and pulled. Moebius's stony arm moved downward like a rusty switch, causing a secret door to spin open behind the statue. He sighed at the old man's love of vanity, "Of course."

Stepping through the passage, he found himself standing at the top of a pitch black stairwell that spiraled lazily into the earth. Ancient bronze oil lamps draped with cobwebs affixed the walls. To his surprise, they flickered to life one by one.

Unlike the other chambers which Kain had used, this passageway seemed to have stood vacant since Moebius's death more than two thousand years ago. In the dim light he noticed a pipe running along the wall. Perhaps it was filled with some kind of natural gas. He decided to tread cautiously.

Continuing down the stone steps, he surveyed his surroundings with increasing trepidation. These stairs appeared to have been carved into the wall of a natural cavern, one which carried a disturbing reflection of his Benefactor's secret chamber beneath the Pillars.

As he leapt across a gap where part of the staircase had crumbled away he heard a distant grinding followed by a weighty thud. Raziel turned, his wings fluttering. Although he could not see the secret door from here he already knew that it had closed behind him. He sensed that he would find a way out of these caves further down, but this knowledge did little to calm his nerves. Even though his second sight assured him he would not meet his Benefactor below he still felt as though It was watching him somehow. Here and everywhere, now and always. Raziel shivered.

The staircase descended on and on down its winding path, passing through a widening cavern caged in tooth-like stalagmites and stalactites that dripped into a lake far below. At its shores the staircase terminated. Standing on the shore, he looked across the still black waters stretching into darkness so deep even his vampiric eyes struggled to penetrate it. Somewhere beyond his sight, a waterfall hissed.

Vivid memories of gazing into the abyss on the day of his execution came rushing back to him. He clenched his eyes shut and backed away, rubbing his brow. It had been a long time since the sight of water inspired such palpable fear. He wondered why he felt this way now when not terribly long ago he had passed through a similar chamber and felt nothing. He turned away, finding himself standing before a large stone door marked with the Time Streamer's symbol: a lemniscate surrounded by a circle. Four small clock-like devices formed a square around the lemniscate, two on each side.

There was no clear means of opening this door: it had no handles and the room in which he stood was devoid of any devices or puzzles that might be used to open it. Although the answer lay within him, he forced himself not to think of it. Since entering this room he felt uncomfortably unlike himself, afraid of his own shadow. He needed to prove to himself that he was still Raziel.

He ran his hand over the seam and eyed the door thoughtfully. His eyes settled on the clocks. They did not appear to be merely ornamental. Leaning his stave against the wall, he stood in front of the door and raised his hands, using telekensis to move the hour hand of the clock on the far right. As he manipulated it the hour hand glowed with a faint blue aura. Gears clicked inside the door.

So it seemed he only needed to set each of the clocks to the correct time for the door to open. Four clocks: four points in time. Raziel clicked his jaw.

Starting with the clock in the upper right corner, Raziel set the hour hand approximately to dawn, and moving to the left, set the other clocks to noon, dusk, and midnight, respectively. The lemniscete rotated three-hundred sixty degrees in a clockwise fashion as the mechanism rumbled. Dust leapt from the stone as the massive doors lumbered open to expose an ancient chamber. Retrieving his stave, Raziel entered with satisfaction.

In the center of the room there stood a shallow, wide cauldron lined with dusty candles. Raziel had seen one like it before. He kept his distance. A kind of shrine was arranged against the back wall made up of three obelisk like stones covered in strange writing. Two of the stones bore a marking he had come to associate with the Spectral Realm.

The central stone, however, was marked with another lemniscete in a circle. This lemniscete was different from the one he saw on the door, for it stood on one end like the number eight, but that comparison was not the first that leaped to his mind; the symbol bore an unmistakable resemblance to the pitiless blue-green eye of his Benefactor, the vampire's ancient Oracle. This, of course, was not the first time he found himself drawing a comparison between the lemniscete and his Benefactor. The former Time Guardian Moebius bore an identical marking on his forehead. Given the reason for his rebirth, the reminder made him slightly ill. He lowered his eyes and resolved to search the room.

Where there once stood tables and bookshelves made from (probably expensive) wood there were now only piles of debris. The moist air inside the cave ensured their decay. Amongst the ruins of what might have been a table, a glint of gold caught his eye. He picked it up and blew on it. It appeared to be nothing more than a planisphere, but far more complex than any he had ever seen. A strange sensation rippled through his claws as he held it. Could this be one of Moebius's portable time traveling devices? His eyes narrowed in distrust.

Although he doubted Moebius ever peered into the alternate future he and Kain would create before his death, Raziel recalled all too well how a similar device carried by a much younger Kain had activated of its own accord and transported his master more than fifty years into the past in what turned out to be another one of Moebius's schemes. He dropped the fragile device on the ground and smashed it with his stave for good measure. There were other, more reliable time travel devices he could make use of here, if he ever needed them.

Something crashed behind him. He spun around, ready to attack. A palm-sized hourglass rolled on the ground near the cauldron. It looked as if it had fallen from on top of the cauldron, but Raziel was positive it had not been there before. The glass was filled with a strange red sand. He approached it cautiously. As he closed in his eyes were pulled from the hourglass to the cauldron itself. Seeing that it was empty, he breathed a faint sigh of relief.

A blue glow surrounded the hourglass as he drew it into his hand. The moment it touched his palm his pupils dilated and his head became as light as air. It was as if he spent his entire life watching shadows dance on a cave wall and was suddenly and unceremoniously thrown into the broad light of day. The stave fell from his open hand and clattered on the floor while his grip on the hourglass only tightened. He staggered, teetering on the edge of the cauldron in a dizzied state.

The entirety of Nosgoth's history bloomed before his eyes, flooding out across a vast starry river. His head spun wildly if he tried to look at it all at once. The enormity of history overwhelmed him, making his knees quiver and his head explode.

Flickering like a thread of silk, Raziel's own history traversed the time stream, a mere trickle hurried along by the momentum of the currents that surrounded it. Everywhere he looked it was the same; countless lives pushing one another along relentlessly, each one battling the others for the momentary illusion of control, unaware of the inconsequentiality of their lives. Freewill became meaningless.

Suddenly the river split in two, each fork carried by one particular creature. One path faded away into darkness while the other rushed onward toward the present. Raziel realized what he was looking at now. This was the first instance when history changed after Kain assassinated William.

Entangled with the trickle of Kain's history, another destiny abandoned the stream and doubled back on itself, creating a whirlpool that clung to history like a cancer. This was the cyclical destiny of the Soul Reaver, the sword that would become his prison. Raziel and Kain, Kain and Raziel: the threads of their destinies wound about one another in a serpentine embrace. As the current doubled back many others were swept up in its wake.

Somehow, the paths of their destinies escaped the whirlpool. Here the time stream descended into chaos, splitting into a multitude of tributaries that dried up or crossed with others. No longer were souls pulled along a steady course. They swept over one another and spread out wildly. Rather than a smooth river the time stream now resembled a tree with many branches.

Down one path he saw Kain strike him with the Soul Reaver. This time, the Soul Reaver did not shatter over him. As he was no longer a wraith the ethereal forces of the blade ripped him apart, shredding his soul to pieces and devouring the spoils like a rabid dog. The stream ended there, plummeting through a crack in time and space that seemed to suck down everything.

In another Raziel saw himself returning the Soul Reaver to Avernus Cathedral in the past. This stream continued onward, but before he could follow it Nosgoth dropped out from under him and he fell to the ground, trembling in shock.

When he came to the hourglass was still gripped tight in his hand. He had been blacking out a lot lately. It was an experience he was coming to despise. Head throbbing, he stood unsteadily and leaned on his stave as he studied the hourglass in his hand, struggling to comprehend all that he had seen. Gradually, his mind adjusted to its new perspective.

_History abhors a paradox_, Kain once said. If Raziel could not convince Kain to surrender the Soul Reaver so that he could return it to Avernus the resulting paradox would tear all of Nosgoth asunder. But even if he succeeded, there was still more at stake. The apparent 'death' of his Benefactor sent quakes through time and space that destabilized history and threw the time stream into chaos, replacing the smooth stream of destiny with the anarchy of freewill. Now Raziel understood what his Benefactor meant when It called Itself the Hub of the Wheel. The revelation caused the blood to freeze in his veins. It was the one possibility he never considered.

It was telling the truth_._

His Benefactor served a regulatory role, keeping history on a smooth course. Perhaps It had not always been so malevolent. However, that did not change the fact that It needed to be destroyed for the Pillars to heal, even though Its death cast Nosgoth's future adrift. The Wheel of Fate was wobbling.

Now it all made sense. This was why the Pillars resurrected him - not to protect themselves from a human Time Guardian, but because Nosgoth needed a guide to steer it through the chaos ahead if it was to survive. So many of the tributaries ended in disaster. Nosgoth could not wait twenty years for a human Time Guardian to mature_._ Chance alone would not be enough; Nosgoth needed a Time Streamer _now_. As the purifying spirit of the Reaver, he simply happened to be in the right place at the right time. A convenient pawn.

No. He needed to stop using that word. Raziel was many things, but he was no one's pawn.

He stared at the hourglass filled with red sand. Since he picked it up, his head felt so clear; he understood what was once incomprehensible with such clarity that he felt ashamed of his former ignorance. Could this be _that_ hourglass, the focus of Moebius's time streaming magic? But how...?

Raziel closed his fist around the hourglass and turned to face the barren cauldron. No matter, he had more important matters to attend to. Viewing the entire time stream at once was too taxing, even for a vampire, but this cauldron should allow him to see specific points in time without sapping his strength to such a degree. Once he filled it with water from the lake it should be useable. With the time stream so fractured, he could only hope this would work.


	4. The Lost Children

**AN: **Pontius, Mara, Michael, Cyrus, and Chrysanta are OCs. Tarik is just some Turelim.

PS - Some portions of this chapter are not for the feint of heart.

* * *

A flock of bats flew over Erste Stadt, the First City. Standing outside the Soggy Rat Pub, a group of humans paused as one of their members pointed to the flock. They watched the dark shapes for a moment with curious smiles before resuming their conversation and heading into the pub, having already forgotten the sight. The bats were familiar residents of Erste Stadt. For generations the flock roosted in Erste Stadt's canals. Although the city's vampire hunters wanted to evict them for superstitious reasons no one had managed to reach their nesting place, which lay deep within a canal near the city gate and behind a grate, most of the quarter million humans living there regarded them as a mere local curiosity.

No one knew precisely when Erste Stadt was founded. Most believed its genesis occurred between four and five hundred years ago, sometime after their ancestors escaped the tyranny of the vampires. Newly rescued slaves still turned up in the city, usually children. These 'lost children' found themselves apprenticed into the ranks of vampire hunters and city guards, if they were boys. The girls were not so lucky. Those not taken as brides were doomed to a life of servitude to Oculus Fati, the deity and protector of Erste Stadt.

The Cathedral of Oculus Fati was the largest and most central building in the entire city; a fine roosting place for any bat, but the flock that was currently flying over Erste Stadt was more discriminating than average. It was said that Erste Stadt was founded when Oculus Fati spoke to man. The walls of Erste Stadt owed their founding to their divine benefactor. His holy words were etched onto the walls of the Cathedral:

I AM THE ENGINE OF LIFE  
THE HUB OF THE WHEEL  
DEVOURER OF DEATH  
I AM HERE AND EVERYWHERE  
NOW AND ALWAYS

Unbeknownst to the general population, a small panic was brewing in the secret chambers beneath the Cathedral. Their god had recently and unexpectedly fallen silent.

Naturally, the Oculite priests kept this secret. Although they believed His silence would herald the end of the world they were not eager to give up their power over the citizens, particularly in this time of uncertainty.

There was, however, a second, heretical religion hidden in the shadows of Erste Stadt, in a place known as the Undercity. Known as vampire worshipers to outsiders, Kainanites to themselves, these free-born humans and disgruntled former slaves formed a cult to glorify and feed Nosgoth's vampires. The Kainanites were almost as old as Erste Stadt itself.

Flying through the canals was a risk, even in bat form. If one of the bats miscalculated and crashed into the water it could be killed instantly. When he morphed into his vampiric form he might find himself missing a finger - or worse. Fortunately, their sense of echolocation was exquisite and guided the multitude through the twisting tunnels with ease.

A secret passage slid open and the flock passed through it. On the other side, the bats swarmed around a central point and coalesced into the shape of a man wearing a red cape and carrying a unique sword. Two creatures knelt before him: one human, the other vampire. The panel closed behind him. Kain spoke, "Arise, priestess. Why have you summoned me?"

Nur, High Priestess of the Kainanites, rose alongside her companion, the Rahabim Pontius, carrying a trident. His rubbery, silver skin glistened faintly in the torch light, his deep red eyes aglow. "We believe we have found the Planer, my Lord," said Nur, reverentially averting her eyes.

Finally, some good news. Kain ordered them to take him to the child. He wanted to see the newly born Dimension Guardian with his own eyes. Pontius walked on his left while the priestess took up the right. Kain's eyes were drawn to her.

Intentionally or not, over the centuries the vampire cult had grown increasingly hedonistic, as if in honor of their god's philosophy. Nur was a shining example of this. For the past twenty years, Kain watched her grow from a sniveling child to a serpent of a woman with venom in her smile and eyes as pitiless as the viper she embodied. Her untamed hair flowed about her heart shaped face, a sea of flame.

They came to Mara's quarters. The new mother sat on the edge of her humble cot, nursing a child with her breast. A crib near her cot held the sleeping Michael, the Conflict Guardian, her child. Her demure grey eyes lifted as they entered. Her dark brown hair was cut short, practical like a man. He hardly noticed her.

As Kain approached Mara she averted her eyes and stood obediently. Sensing his motive, she gently brushed back the blanket covering the child's head. Simply by looking at it, Kain sensed its connection to the Pillars. "This is the Planer," Kain intoned. She nodded.

Strange that something so small and weak held so much power. He recalled the destruction unleaded upon the city of Avernus by Azimuth the Planer, who in her insanity summoned thousands of demons to burn the city to the ground. Innocent though this child seemed, Kain did not underestimate its potential for chaos. "What is it called?"

"Cyrus, my Lord," Mara replied.

Cyrus and Michael: Dimension and Conflict. Everything was coming together. If only the Time Streamer was this cooperative. "I presume I have you to thank for this, Pontius," Kain said, turning to the Rahabim. Pontius bowed humbly, his voice rattled by clicks and musical tweets.

"I discovered him among the slaves in the Drowned Abby, as you said he would be. It was a simple matter. Only one of our slaves had given birth recently. Fortunately, he appears to be in good health."

"And what of the other Guardians?" he inquired, addressing Priestess Nur.

"We are closing in on them, my Lord."

Three days ago, after Raziel had been put to rest, Kain traveled here to inform the Priestess of the whereabouts of the remaining Pillar Guardians. He sensed that the Mind, States, and Energy Guardians had been born somewhere in Erste Stadt, but in a city with a quarter million humans, they would not be easy to find. The Conflict Guardian was also born somewhere in the city, though Kain was surprised to find the child already among the Kainanites, having been born to one of their newest cultists, Mara. The Death and - until recently - Dimension Guardians were born to human slaves still in the claws of their vampiric masters. As for the Nature Guardian, its birth occurred so far from the Pillars that he had difficulty pin-pointing its location and only knew that it was somewhere to the north. He believed the Death Guardian resided somewhere in Zephon's clan. If not for Raziel's condition, he would have gone to retrieve it himself before now.

He also had his hands full trying to discern what had become of the other clans. Only the Dumahim and Turelim found their way to the Sanctuary after the raising of the Pillars. The Dumahim had been nomadic for centuries. The loss of their clan leader did not trouble them nor did they seem aware of it. Those who had not already pledged their loyalty to him turned it over quickly.

As for the Turelim, their clan had suffered a massive split after Turel's unexplained disappearance centuries ago. Some became nomads, but the majority either retained their former loyalties or pledged themselves to Kain. He found them easy to control. From these two clans, he sent scouts to determine the status of the others.

The Melchahim were near extinction, their slave stocks decimated by plagues and vampire hunters. The few that survived reacted ferociously to his Turelim scouts, a most unwise decision. Their bloodline would be wiped out within the year.

The Rahabim, of course, continued to thrive in the Drowned Abby and in the canals of Erste Stadt's secretive Undercity. He doubted even Raziel could have had a great affect on their numbers. Despite being the middle child, Rahab and his children proved invaluable to him during the centuries after Raziel's execution. Rahab's death had undoubtedly been his greatest loss during Raziel's rampage.

Like the deaths of the other clan leaders Rahab's destruction had been necessary. Kain had centuries to prepare for it. Though he felt small, occasional pangs of loss, he saw no sense in grieving for his fallen children. One can seldom alter the past.

As for the Zephonim, they had sealed themselves quite securely within their territory. Since the clans split the Zephonim had grown increasingly secretive. As they were of low caste, he paid them little heed during the centuries after Raziel's execution, giving them free reign to do as they pleased unless it interfered with his future plans. He planned on paying them a personal visit once had Raziel recovered. Frustratingly, he found himself cast away on a different errand.

Having confirmed the child's identity for himself, he led Priestess Nur and Pontius to the deepest chamber of the Undercity. It was time he told them the truth about Raziel.

He would have preferred to keep the Time Streamer's identity secret for as long as possible. Until recently he had been counting on Raziel's loyalty to keep him malleable. His laughter in the Sanctuary was a palpable reminder of the insanity that corrupted the Circle before his birth. Their final confrontation in the nave of Avernus now left a chilling impression on his mind. The savage ghoul he encountered in Avernus, its hollow eyes overflowing with green flame, was not the child he cast into the abyss centuries ago. Sometime between the slaughter at the Sarafan Stronghold and Avernus in flames, something profound had changed in Raziel.

That was why he revealed Raziel's identity to Priestess Nur and Pontius. He posed a potential threat to Nosgoth's future and they needed to be aware. There was no reason to tell them everything, of course, and even if he trusted them with the whole story there would not have been time to tell it. He still needed to see to the smoke stacks. Though he knew shutting them down would drive a rift between him and the clans, he hoped that his compliance would convince Raziel to trust him again.

Although he did not necessarily need Raziel restoring Nosgoth to her former glory would be far easier with a Time Streamer to show him the way. For this reason, he was not eager to have Raziel killed. Caution was not all that stayed his hand.

...

Leaving the Kainanites to weigh their options, Kain flew north toward the Northern Smokestack. The flight took him nearly two hours. There were closer smokestacks he could have visited first, but he had his reasons for investigating this one.

The Turelim called Tarik was twice Kain's size, above average for a Turelim. Their clan possessed both remarkable physical prowess and highly developed psychic abilities. During Raziel's heyday as the leader of the Razielim no one could say for certain which of their clans was more powerful, they were so closely matched. Only the sight of the Soul Reaver drawn in Kain's right hand gave Tarik pause to re-consider his master's order. His large ears flattened as he bowed his head. "As you wish, my Lord. This way."

Kain followed, holding the Soul Reaver at his side. Its eyes glowed bright blue.

Beneath their feet, the great engines of Nosgoth's smokestacks rumbled like a snoring giant. These monstrosities of steel and stone were the wonders of Kain's empire. Using coal mined by an army of human slaves, they belched smoke into Nosgoth's skies, blotting out the sun for centuries.

As a consequence of this much of Nosgoth's plant and animal life had gone extinct in the intervening centuries. These human slaves were fed a ground-up paste made from their own dead. All the clans participated in this to some degree, given the scarcity of meat. He expected even the humans of Erste Stadt resorted to cannibalism, probably in secret.

Far below the catwalk where Kain and Tarik stood, the great engines of the Northern Smokestack roared and belched flame, fed by natural gasses and coal shoveled by countless slaves. Tarik lifted the horn from his belt and blew. This signaled another Turelim to bang a gong, and so on down the line. The humans dropped their shovels and sulked away from the furnaces. "It will take many days for the engines to run dry," Tarik cautioned.

Kain nodded in understanding. There were ten smokestacks stationed around Nosgoth, some even larger than this one. He expected it would be months before the full effect was felt. Simply shutting them down would take days. "Where do you keep your breeding slaves?"

Tarik seemed puzzled. Thankfully, he had not lived this long by questioning Kain's command. He showed his master where they kept the breeding stock for the mines.

Sensing nothing here, Kain asked if any other slaves had been born recently. Tarik explained that slaves born to drones - the name for male slaves and female slaves who were unfit to breed - were recycled into feed. When Kain pressed he admitted that occasionally a birth would go unnoticed. Since drones lacked the energy and time to care for a child, these lost children would turn up from time to time in slag heaps, waste receptacles, and abandoned sections of the mines. Kain ordered Tarik to gather a party to search for such a child. Profoundly confused, Tarik went away on his task.

The search lasted over four hours while Kain waited in the officer's quarters, which had been built into the side of a cliff overlooking the quarry and mine. Standing in front of a window, he watched the human ants move about and thought about Raziel.

Shutting down the smokestacks was not part of Kain's plan. Once new Guardians were born, he had assumed their powers would be enough to restore Nosgoth without the hated light of the sun. Even if he needed to wait for them to mature he thought it would be enough. Having found Moebius's time streaming devices no longer of any use to him, he was forced to rely on Raziel's word, which should not have troubled him as much as it did, for his eldest son had always been reliable in word and action.

What could have caused him to behave so irrationally at Avernus Cathedral? Some Hyldan influence? A terrible possibility. Perhaps his imprisonment in the Reaver also had something to do with his behavior in the Sanctuary. Whatever the cause of Raziel's disturbing behavior, he hoped he was not beyond redemption. Again, Kain remembered his laughter. His lips curled.

"My lord?"

Kain turned. There stood Tarik and in his bulging arms was a tiny pink thing, thin, shivering, and whimpering of dehydration and hunger. He saw that it was a girl. So this was the Druid, Guardian of the Pillar of Nature.

How fitting that she should be born into such a shattered and foul existence among these pitiful slaves, in a place designed to kill the element she represented. The air here was too polluted for a child so weak. Even fostered among the Northern Smokestack's breeding stock, he doubted she would ever recover from these early trials. Under different circumstances he would have killed her out of mercy. With the Circle so young, he dreaded to think what might occur if death visited them now.

"Find her a healthy young breeder for a mother. I want them both sent to the Sanctuary of the Clans as soon as possible."

The befuddled Turelim rubbed his lips together. "Did I stutter!?" Kain snapped, tightening his grip on the Soul Reaver. The child let out a choked cry as Tarik recoiled. He wrinkled his nose and turned to go, taking the child with him. Kain turned away, rubbed his forehead and sighed acidly. What a travesty.

That girl would need a name. Slaves were terrible at making their own. A Guardian deserved a fitting title. Maybe it would give her luck, too. They all needed it now.

"Chrysanta." He tested the name quietly and let it sit in the air. Yes, that would do.

...

Kain's flock flew over Dumah's battlements at dawn. Despite having flown out at morning the previous day he had only reached three of the smokestacks and succeeded in shutting them down. As the flock flew over the Oracle's Cave something caught their attention. They swooped down. As Kain manifested on the bloody, ashen ground, a sneer curled over his features. The bodies of three Turelim lay mutilated on the ground. Their hearts had been ripped from their chests and the wounds showed signs of bunt force. Bloody, cloven footprints littered the ground, one set quite different from the Turelim. He growled, "Raziel."

Of course, he _knew_ that Raziel would come here. He only hoped he would heed the warning left for him. After killing so many vampires in pursuit of him, he should have known better than to expect Raziel to be stopped by a mere three Turelim.

"One small act of trust, that's all I asked," Kain grumbled as he descended into the Oracle's Cave. "This time, when I get my claws on him, I'll rip off his legs, too!"

He searched Moebius's complex high and low for Raziel. He sensed that he was here somewhere. After more than two hours of fruitless searching, he returned to Moebius's cauldron to bide his time. Raziel would have to pass by here on his way out.

By this time his temper had cooled somewhat. While he waited, he examined the Soul Reaver. Eternal imprisonment in a soul devouring blade, disembodied, senseless, and undying: even he would not wish these punishments upon his worst enemy. As long as the Time Pillar remained pure white, Raziel's soul remained untainted. How close was he to the brink of insanity?

When Kain left Raziel at the Sanctuary, he left wondering if they had truly escaped destiny at all. Without knowing how Raziel managed to purify the Soul Reaver, he would not be able to cleanse the Pillars a second time if Raziel's insanity infected the circle. It might simply be better to kill him before he did any harm. However, the circumstances of Raziel's re-birth made him hesitant. As far as he knew the Pillars had never created a Guardian like Raziel before. Nosgoth still needed him.

There were two possible outcomes. On one side of the coin, he could kill Raziel and risk placing Nosgoth's time stream in the hands of another corruptible human. On the other, he could trust in Raziel and hope that he retained some shred of reason. No matter how the coin landed, Nosgoth's future remained unclear. This dilemma was all too familiar.

Suddenly, a green light appeared in front of the cauldron and the Time Streamer manifested. Raziel looked weak. He tried to hide it by supporting his weight with that quarterstaff, but Kain was not fooled. From the dark lines around his eyes and sunken features, Kain guessed he had not fed since the last time he saw him at the Sanctuary. A small, silver ring was held in his claws, undoubtedly one of Moebius's magical artifacts. He pocketed it, ignoring his master. Kain scowled. "Raziel. I suppose you have a convienent reason for defying me."

"You talk as if you can still control me," Raziel tiredly observed. Infuriated by this bored indifference, Kain approached him with the Soul Reaver drawn. He stepped in front of him and said so that Raziel could smell his breath, "I do. Would you like a demonstration?"

He glanced at the Soul Reaver and eyed it for a long time. At this distance Kain could strike him with ease before he had time to dodge. He shook his head limply and sighed. "I don't want to fight you."

"Is that so? You seem determined to try my temper."

Just as he was beginning to feel in control of the situation Raziel met his eyes. They were filled with a familiar intensity. Although he plainly meant this to be intimidating, Kain was somewhat relieved to see a shred of the old Raziel at last. He had grown accustomed to his hatred and took it for a sign of mental stability. What happened next caught him off guard. "If I've displeased you, you hold the means to execute me. You're a fool if you think I have any fear of death after suffering so much. I would welcome it."

Kain scoffed, smirking. "You're a terrible liar."

Raziel did not reply. He merely stared back as if daring him to act. Of course Raziel knew that he would not be killed here. Kain still wanted to give him another chance. Yet the longer the silence dragged on the deeper Raziel's words sank into his flesh. He began to doubt that Raziel was simply calling his bluff. Again Kain noticed how tired he looked, but this time it reminded him of his final moments in the Vampire Citadel when he was too weak to even hold up his head. But Raziel was not that weak now. He could stand on his own two feet, probably put up a fight. It dawned on him that perhaps Raziel was not simply physically tired. For the first time, he wondered if he might have pushed him too far in his quest to alter destiny.

Kain immediately tried to reject this idea. He had never known Raziel to tire of conflict. He relished every challenge and seemed to love nothing more than to be thrown to his knees if only for the opportunity to stand.

He did not expect Raziel to forgive him. However, he did expect his trust. None of the acts of cruelty Kain visited upon his eldest son had significantly diminished Raziel's loyalty. Their bond was forged in their blood. Yes, he had been cruel to Raziel; because he always believed there was no punishment he could not rise above. This belief had been proved true countless times.

Some years after he uncovered the secrets of the Oracle's Cave he had tried to kill the fledgling Raziel to prove a point about his own freewill. At the time, he was still struggling to accept the brutal infallibility of fate. This had not been the first time he tried to have Raziel killed or otherwise rendered incapable of performing his predestined role but it would come to be his last serious attempt. By his orders Raziel had been worked past the point of exhaustion, starved, sent on impossible errands, and abandoned to the wilderness under the guise of 'training'. Although he had never before tried to kill Raziel personally, his fledgling was ready for him.

In order to avoid provoking history, he had substituted the Soul Reaver for an ordinary sword. As he came upon him, thinking him unawares, Raziel drew his own sword and parried. Despite being only thirty-two to his master's five hundred years, Raziel held his own valiantly during that brutally short fight. No matter how Kain blooded him he refused to stand down or give into fatigue and pain. Only by knocking the sword out of his hand was he able to deliver the finishing blow, stabbing him through the heart. As he pulled the sword from Raziel's chest he fell to the ground.

A quick chop through the neck would have killed him there. But he couldn't do it. He was too damned proud of him. "You're dead, Raziel. You'll have to be faster next time," he had said coyly as he sheathed the sword. When he tried to offer his son a hand up Raziel stood on his own while he bled out of his chest. None of his brothers would or could have done that.

The thought that he actually caused him significant injury was almost unthinkable. But perhaps he had. Giving him his space, Kain reluctantly sheathed the Soul Reaver. It was too damned hard not to like him. "Have it your way. You'll have to come around sooner or later. In spite of your rebellion, the doors of the Sanctuary are still open to you."

Raziel said nothing. He only looked away. Kain studied him for a moment, realizing that Raziel did not want to leave until he had gone first. This behavior was so different from the Raziel he saw in the Vampire Citadel and different still from the Raziel he fought in Avernus Cathedral. He wanted to know what the hell happened to him in the five centuries between the Sarafan Stronghold and Avernus, but he could see that Raziel was in no mood to relinquish his secrets. He would have to be patient. Making his voice tender, Kain added, "Return when it suits you."

This invitation brought a faint glimmer of longing into Raziel's eyes. Although it vanished as quickly as it appeared, Kain left with a smile on his face. He still knew how to manipulate him.

...

Pontius and Nur listened in silence while Kain explained the situation to them. Pontius in particular struggled to keep his snout from crinkling. Only after their master left and Nur accompanied him back to the solitude of his chamber did he speak out in a voice that rang like a chorus of agitated crickets. "He is a heretic," he said in response to Nur's earlier question concerning Raziel's identity. "The murderer of my maker, Rahab, and all the leaders of the clans. Kain should kill him now, before it's too late."

Nur sat on the edge of Pontius's aquarium. Her feet dangled in the water, her little dress folded over her lap, exposing her long and shapely legs. She threw her hood back over her head and combed her curly hair with her fingers, her gaze thoughtful and serious. She had never met any of the clan leaders, although she knew their names and order of power. Nor did she know anything about the chaos that had so recently decimated the clans. This was news to her. However, the clans had never been of great concern to the Kainanites. Only Kain's power truly mattered. "He sounds like a scoundrel."

"Indeed." Pontius jammed his trident into the weapon rack in anger. Slipping into the pool, he disappeared into the murky water. Nur leaned forward, seeking his shadow. After a few moments he surfaced in front of her. He lay his sharkish head on her legs, crossing his arms over Nur, whose bare skin prickled at his cold touch. She stroked his rubbery hood. He trilled pleasurably and closed his eyes, though his brow looked far too taunt to hold peaceful thoughts.

"He won't find us here, you know that," Nur said gently.

"Kain has changed. His eyes have softened since the Pillar's return." Pontius gave a bubbling sigh. "This has not gone according to plan."

Priestess Nur inclined her head, her fiery curls falling over her cold eyes. Her hand paused on the back of his hood. "What plan?"

Pontius lifted his head slightly. His lips parted, revealing row upon row of carnivorous teeth. However, this was not a gesture of hostility. Nur saw fondness in the subtle twitch of his brow and the angle of his chin. "You are ready to know the truth. I have served as High Priest of the Kainanites for nearly five hundred years. Before our movement began, Kain bestowed upon me all his knowledge of the Pillars and their significance. For centuries, I have prepared our people for the prophecy which is now unfolding. We are destined to be the stewards of the Pillars and their Guardians, the Circle of Nine. That is why we are collecting the Guardians. When they are of age, Kain will turn them. In preparation for that day, we must teach them the ways of the Kainanites, make them faithful worshipers.

"Raziel was instrumental in the fulfillment of this prophecy. As to his exact purpose, I was never told." He paused, blinking his second set of eyelids in a troubled gesture. "But Raziel was not supposed to return. He should not be a Guardian."

Nur was not offended by having been kept ignorant all these years. Ignorance, she understood, was a powerful tool of control. She did not expect to be granted knowledge until Pontius found her worthy of it. His enlightenment was a gift. She thanked him by scratching under his hood. He leaned his head against her hand, chirping quietly. "Do not worry, Pontius. Kain will bring him around to the proper way of thinking."

"Your faith in him is unwavering," he said. Ordinarily she would have taken this as praise, but his tone carried a hint of bitterness that she found unsettling. "Mine is not. Kain is a vampire, like I, risen from a mere mortal. His judgement may err, from time to time."

This observation disturbed her. While Pontius harbored certain misgivings about Kain, she had never heard him openly criticize Kain's judgement. She too had moments of doubt, but she kept them to herself as she had been taught. After a long hesitation, she whispered, "What should we do?"

His throat rattled, vibrating against her thighs. "We must be watchful." Touching her hand with his cold, webbed claws, he nuzzled it lovingly and did his best impression of a kiss. "Join me."

Priestess Nur rose and slipped out of her robes. She carefully removed her loop earrings, placing them on top of her clothes with her bangles and necklace. Naked, she slipped into the water. Though her skin prickled at its cold touch she did not shiver, for her body was used to coldness. Pontius wrapped his arms around her from behind. His musical voice sang in her ear. She reached back, stroking the edge of his hood and smiling in her vulpine way. "Let us swim together," Pontius purred.


	5. -NEW- Second Coming

**AN:** Dear RLt,

If you've already reviewed "Sons and Fathers" you may have issues posting a review for this chapter. You can post as a guest (guest reviews are unmoderated) or PM me your review. I'll make sure the mods know. Sorry for the inconvenience. :)

This is the first of three-I mean, _four_ retroactive chapters: Second Coming, Through Gritted Teeth, Master of My Fate, and Mirrors in Time. They are intended to expand on Raziel's history, Nosgoth, and form a sturdier foundation for the rest of the novel. THERE ARE NO CHANGES TO THE PLOT. The next two chapters will also be posted today and an updated version of "Time Streaming" will go up sometime tomorrow, most likely.

Joseph Hasek and Derek Kranz are OCs.

* * *

Night fell over Nosgoth once more, choking the mountains in pitch darkness. No stars had shone here for centuries. On ordinary nights the light of the moon barely penetrated the smoke. The thunderclouds blotted out the light entirely.

The rubble of a gigantic, hollow skull lay in pieces in the barren canyon that had once been the retreat of the Mind Guardian, Nupraptor, before the fledgling Kain destroyed him along with the rest of the previous Circle of Nine. The waterfall that flowed from the mouth of Nupraptor's Retreat had long since dried up. Now all that remained was a crumbling platform, jutting out of the cliff face like a broken jaw, surrounded by weather beaten walls and collapsing towers.

One dead tree leaned against the inner wall, its skeletal branches reaching hopelessly for the sun, which was no longer visible during the day. Some centuries after Nupraptor's death left the retreat vacant, part of the roof had collapsed and given way to nature. The tree grew up here. It had watched the rise and fall of Kain's empire and saw the sun disappear behind Nosgoth's sickly yellow smog. Plants and animals died at its roots. Nature had reclaimed the retreat, but Kain had conquered that, too. Nothing lived here now. Raziel's wings startled the lonely air as he fluttered down for a landing.

He staggered, forced to use his quarterstaff for balance. His throat felt as acrid and inhospitable as these cliffs and the sound of his own heart beat made him slightly dizzy. Sore from his long flight, he only half folded his wings, letting them hang semi-horizontal from his back, webbed fingers curled. Putting one foot in front of the other, he trudged into the ruined retreat to take shelter from the impending storm.

Finding blood in Nosgoth's present had proved a far greater challenge than Raziel anticipated after his last encounter with Kain. There were few free humans in this time period. Most humans lived in Erste Stadt, the walled city to the east, but fate had different plans for them apart from satisfying Raziel's hunger pangs.

Nothing of Raziel's clan remained. They died out some years after his execution, driven into extinction by Kain's apathy and the bitter envy of the other clans, leaving his vacant territory to become a nest for vampire hunters and Dumahim vagabonds. No one would help him. He refused to crawl back to Kain because he was hungry.

He had taken to the skies and flown south west to the Necropolis, the capital of Melchiahim territory; the clan of his late brother. They had recently been attacked by vampire hunters. Raziel had hoped to come across one of their lost slaves or an injured vampire hunter to release from suffering.

Amongst the city of the dead, he found few signs of Melchiah's children, apart from a few rotten bodies impaled on pikes. Many of the graves had been opened, their occupants dismembered and burned. The countless crypts and mausoleums where the Melchiahim made their homes had been breached, raided, and destroyed. Here and there, stuck in the ground like a stake through the heart, waved banners left by the vampire hunters of Erste Stadt, the last descendents of escaped Razielim slaves. Apart from these banners and a few abandoned camp sites, there were no signs of human life here. The atmosphere was depressing.

Clairvoyance had not helped him find blood. It had warned him of the thundershower however, so there was still something to be said for seeing the future. This one would be mostly lightning and noise with little rain. He could not be sure how long it would last because his conscious visions did not extend that far, but he hoped it would let up within a few hours so that he could resume looking for food.

Raziel entered the main chamber of the retreat and looked around. Built into the mountain, the lower levels of Nupraptor's Retreat held up considerably better than the facade. The columns and archways were faded and cracked in places and the hallway was dark, quite comfortable for Raziel's eyes. Being in Melchiah's territory, the retreat was the nearest structure he could locate which could provide shelter from the elements and security from the dangers below, for the entryway had collapsed long ago. The only way to reach it now was by air or braving the steep cliffs and jagged mountains. Although this was not impossible, the living had another reason for avoiding this place.

This was where it all began. Thousands of years after the fact, fingernail marks still clung to the walls. According to Kain, Nurpraptor had turned his powers on his own servants, making them believe that their skin was maggots and the walls beastly jaws of death. The Mind Guardian sentenced his humble pilgrims to bash their own skulls to the wall and claw themselves to death for no other reason than to drown his grief in bloodshed. Their fear still turned the air sour.

The Nine Pillar Guardians represented the only hope for Nosgoth's future - and yet they possessed the potential to destroy it. In his tales of the past, Kain derided the Mentalist Nupraptor as a pathetic, heartbroken little man who sewed shut his eyes and mouth and infected the rest of the Circle with insanity as he mourned his murdered lover, Ariel the Balance Guardian.

But it was Mortanius, Guardian of the Pillar of Death, who murdered Ariel and set these events in motion. Long before Nupraptor's insanity corrupted the Pillars, Mortanius was already a Hylden puppet. Moebius, too, had been allied with dark forces eons before Nupraptor's birth. The previous Circle was impotent, self-destructive. Would Nosgoth's new Guardians be any better? As he trekked through deeper into the mountain, Raziel brooded.

He was now part of this history; a Time Guardian, the latest in a long line of powerful sorcerers and sorceresses endowed with the Pillars' gifts. The responsibilities he now carried felt overwhelming, but given the precedents set by his predecessors, he did not feel entirely unworthy of this title. He had been Kain's right-hand during the War of Conquest and taken revenge on his own brothers. It sounded almost quaint.

Kain, Guardian of Balance since his human birth, infected by Nupraptor's insanity, had decimated the land he was born to protect. He may have restored the Pillars to a state of purity now, but that hardly excused him for defiling Nosgoth in the first place. Nosgoth might already be recovering if not for Kain's smokestacks.

Yet blood had soaked the land eons before Kain's birth. Raziel's maker was merely the latest in a long line of tyrants and warmongers determined to hold Nosgoth under their boot. Nosgoth had always overlooked the shores of hell. The tide waxed and waned. He did not know if Nosgoth deserved redemption. Perhaps it was not even worth saving.

Raziel counted off the things he had learned since using Moebius's divining cauldron. He knew that Nosgoth was doomed if the Soul Reaver stayed in Kain's hands. He knew that if he faced Kain as he was, Kain would destroy him. He also knew that he was about to gain an unlikely ally who would aid him against Kain. This new alliance would bring him face to face with an unsavory part of his past, so he did not look forward to it, and in fact wished to avoid it if he could.

Apart from that, he knew very little about the future. He did not even know when he would find his next meal. Divining placed an enormous tax on his strength. He had only just been re-born; his body was not equipped to handle the strain.

The remains of a skeleton curled against the wall sent a spike of hunger through Raziel's gut as he proceeded down the hall. The clans had their human slaves but for a wandering vampire the pickings were pitifully thin. As a wraith he had thought little of consuming vampires' souls. Unfortunately, consuming a vampire's blood without their wishing was not so easy, nor was it as filling. It was more 'dead.' He doubted the reward would be worth the effort.

In the Spectral Realm, the realm of the dead, souls of all kinds were as plentiful as fish in the sea. Raziel never suffered for want of sustenance. At one point he had purposefully abstained to spite his Benefactor, but refusing to feed was quite different from being _unable_.

All he wanted was to go home. Since he no longer had a home, his desires turned to reuniting with the only being to make him feel at home since his execution: Janos Audron. But now even that felt impossible. Nothing he divined so much as hinted at a reunion.

As a wraith, when he found himself with nothing left to live for, revenge kept his soul alive. Later, after meeting Janos Audron, his purpose became obsessed with altering destiny and saving Nosgoth. He had succeeded, but cynicism was the cost of success. The only reward his suffering could possibly receive - the sweet release of death - had been taken from him and replaced with another obligation and more trials to bear.

Raziel gazed through a broken door into the small dark room beyond. Half of the double-door still hung on its hinges. The other half had fallen flat on the ground, rotted from the wall. He pushed against the left-hand door until it collapsed, but the arched doorway was tall and thin, too small for his wings. He grimaced slightly as he folded them up.

His wings were much more flexible than those of bats; folded this way, wingtips positioned a few inches behind his head and wrists rested against his lower back, as if they were an extra set of arms he had crossed behind him, they took up no more space than a large shield. This position was not usually uncomfortable, and in fact he often kept them this way, but now their stiff joints strained, weakened from exertion.

Glancing behind him, rolling his shoulders and flexing the long and slender fingers of his wings to work the soreness from his bones, he listened to the rustle of their thin membranes and bared his fangs through a suffering smile, hunger almost forgotten. Had he been so blinded by visions of the future that he took this blessing for granted? He had been _flying!_ He felt the cold wind rushing through his hair! Gravity did not tell him when to come down.

After his execution - for five _hundred_ years - he had smoldered, tried to force down the bitter fact that his boneless wings would never carry him higher than he could jump. On those tattered sails he could do no more than glide like a shoddy kite. He had given up on true flight, like he had given up on his clan. Raziel laughed and bowed his head, covering it with his claws. He felt like sobbing.

Suddenly, something disturbed him from his thoughts. He faced the hall, clutching his quarterstaff in both hands, ready for a fight. He surveyed the hall and listened acutely to his surroundings. He heard whispering, faint moaning, but where it came from he could not tell. The disturbance gradually faded into the aether. Raziel slowly relaxed. He let out a hard sigh. It was only the dead.

Nupraptor's madness left deeper impressions than scratches in stone. Their sad songs almost made him feel at home. If he stumbled across Nupraptor's tormented spirit in these ruins, that would hardly surprise him.

Rotten wood crunched under his boots as he trudged into the room, leaning on his quarterstaff. He settled in a corner of the room, back set to the wall with a clear view of the door, and rested his chin on his knees. Outside, thunder echoed through the canyon. Raziel's eyes half closed. Gradually, his thoughts resumed their previous course.

He had been _flying._ His body had been restored. The Pillars of Nosgoth were pure. There was hope now. The future was perilous, like his first flight, but crashing was worth the sting to taste the sky.

No longer could he live and be ungrateful. He had taken so much for granted before his execution: his rank, his clan, his slaves, his brothers, his friends and even his lovers. He had watched Nosgoth slowly die under Kain's rule and hardly batted an eye. Maybe he had deserved to die - not because he was a traitor, but for being the opposite of that. A complacent, self-important pawn in Kain's empire.

He still wanted to run away, like when Janos told him about his destiny in Nosgoth's distant past. Standing on the balcony of Janos's aerie on that winter's morning, looking out over the killing fields of the Sarafan, the contrast of crimson and white, he had clenched his fists and dismissed his destiny as a revolting martyrdom; a death sentence. He had been right, in the end, but his fate no longer seemed revolting. Self-sacrifice was distinct from suicide.

Second chances should never be wasted. Not on Raziel, not on Nosgoth. Though this meant that his plans to rescue Janos would be delayed for some time, he believed Janos would understand. Janos would want him to continue his work, no matter the cost. What had Janos said? He could still hear his gentle voice...

_Your role in this world's destiny is more crucial – and more _benevolent_ – than you've allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy..._

For now he needed to focus on getting his strength back and waiting out this storm. Once he found a way to feed, he had an appointment to arrange with a Captain Joseph Hasek.

...

Visible from all corners of Nosgoth, the Pillars of Nosgoth - also called the Pillars of Nine - sliced through the dull yellow light. Standing in the abandoned territory of the Razielim, a Dumahim observed the Pillars with unease. Only Kain was old enough to remember a time when the Pillars had been whole. For the nomadic Dumahim, the sight of the Pillars towering over the landscape was an awesome, frightening sight. His companion passed him a makeshift whetstone recovered from the rubble of Raziel's territory.

The first Dumahim drew a rusty dagger from his belt and began to sharpen it. This weapon would not last him much longer, but it was all he had, apart from his claws and prehensile tongue. He felt jealous of his companion, who wielded a sword that, while also in poor condition, had more killing power than this pitiful knife.

They had been traveling together for months now, never knowing each others' names. Their toothy, prehensile tongues, useful for attacking and feeding, rendered all Dumahim incapable of speech. This had been their situation for almost two centuries. Despite their monstrous appearance they still retained their intelligence. In this way, the various, nomadic groups of Dumahim created their own language of grunts and gestures, which varied slightly from tribe to tribe. True names were a relic of the past.

This Dumahim was once called Eran, Eder, or Ezra. His companion, with the sword, had been named Gera. Or maybe it was Gad. It did not matter. They addressed one another with specific calls.

Their language was utilization and crude, for they were capable of making few distinct sounds: _Greetings. Look here. Go that way. Kill that one. Leave me alone. _If they created a language of philosophy and poetry there would be no sounds left to apply to practical matters, so their language was as the language of beasts, leaving each Dumahim an island onto himself. It was a lonely existence, even with company.

However, Eran had a slight advantage over his companion. His chest plate, though cracked, was still useable. Gera had lost his chest plate long before they started traveling together. For this reason, Eran did not take him for much of a threat. But Gera was useful to him. He knew the lay of the land well and was a better survivalist. As Gera sat on the ground examining the edge of his blade, foolishly leaving his back exposed, Eran contemplated how he easily could end him and take his sword. No, not today. Eran still needed him. It was good that Gera trusted him.

Gera stopped and lifted his head. Eran also stopped. "Hrrrg?" asked Gera.

"Mmmm." Eran heard it, too; too loud to be a bird or bat. He stepped closer to Gera, now standing, and scanned the courtyard and the skies. They did not realize their attacker was already behind them.

A quarterstaff with a steel point pierced Eran's armor and the force of impact threw him face first onto the hard ground. His dagger clattered from his hand. He could feel someone standing on top of him. Gera was backing away, frightened. The foe twisted the steel point, making Eran scream and thrash. Suddenly he wrenched the spear free and jammed it in a second time so that Eran felt the point pierce his chest and clang against the front of his armor.

The weight left him. Cloven feet approached Gera out of the corner of his vision. What he first took to be a vampire looked almost human but with strange appendages on its back - wings? Gera attacked him with his sword, but the foe parried with an axe.

Amidst the clang of weapons Eran realized he was able to stand. The spear point must have missed his heart. Looking around, he spotted his dagger lying a few feet in front of him. He crawled toward it. As his claws grasped the handle he pushed himself onto his knees and struggled to to his feet with the spear partially inside him. At this moment Gera hit the ground. His head rolled away, chopped off by the foe's axe. Eran could only stand there, immobilized by shock and the pain caused by the spear still stuck through his back. The foe faced him and an axe embedded into the side of Eran's skull.

...

Deep in the territory of a forgotten vampire clan, Captain Joseph Hasek sat at his desk and looked over his reports with a heavy brow. He was thirty-six years old and had been in Erste Stadt's military for over twenty years, a _free-born_, as is the saying.

Centuries ago Hasek's ancestors had escaped from this ancient city and helped found Erste Stadt. At least, he liked to imagine so. Most of the families in Erste Stadt were slaves only a couple of generations ago. Hasek knew nothing of his family history. His father had been abandoned by his parents as a boy, for they were too poor to feed him, as was not uncommon, and he refused to speak of them. His mother claimed relation to the founders of Erste Stadt. Both of her parents died when she was thirteen, as was not uncommon, so she never answered for proof.

The building Hasek and his men made their home away from home was fortified over twenty years before Hasek was born. No one was quite sure what the building had been used for before whatever foul breed of vampires lived here died out, but some kind of library or museum seemed the most likely possibility. Now it was a fortress.

The reports described a winged, humanoid creature with dark hair and gleaming yellow eyes. For the past week the creature would fly over the library carrying one or two severed vampire heads, which it would drop near the library steps, circle once or twice and then fly away without any contact. At other times the patrols would catch glimpses of the creature gazing down at them from the top of some ruined structure. It might fly away immediately or watch them for several minutes before leaving.

Hasek rubbed his brow pensively. Times had been strange lately. Ever since that glowing structure appeared to the south everyone had been uneasy. They had sprouted from the earth close to the Sanctuary of the Vampire Lord. Hasek had already requested permission to send party to investigate.

Suddenly Hasek heard a knock on his door. It was one of the guards. He dared hope that this might have something to do with his request, but the shocked look on the young man's face told him otherwise and he quickly followed him outside.

Standing near the foot of the stairs was a pale man with gigantic bat-like wings. His long, ebony hair was loosely tied back and his wild bangs framed his stern face. He looked to be in his early thirties, but something in his steely gaze convinced Hasek that he was much older. He wore tough, reinforced leather pants and boots similar to the type they found on vampires, but if this creature's origin was the same then he was of a breed Hasek had never seen before. The quarterstaff in his left hand was clearly of vampire origin as well. A red banner flew from the base. In his right hand he held a pair of vampire heads. They belonged to the snake-tongue clan. He gripped them by their grotesque, straw-like tongues, which were their namesake.

The guards stood around him in a wide circle, nervously gripping their weapons. The winged-man paid no attention to them. His eyes were directly focused on Hasek. He greeted the captain with a slight tilt of his head. "Captain Hasek."

The winged-man knew his name. Hasek swallowed. He wished he had something prepared for this. "Hello."

The winged-man held up his trophies. "I believe this makes twelve. Fifteen if you count the ones I killed the other day." He referred to the three stilt-legs (the slaves referred to them as _Zephonim_) that ambushed one of Hasek's patrols the other day. The report was in his office.

His voice was deep, melodious with a slight growl or purr undercutting his words, which he spoke with perfect pronunciation, a harmonious mixture of nobility and savagery. When vampires spoke it sounded like an animal trying to imitate a human; nothing like this creature. Hasek did not have the faintest idea of what he was looking at.

Hasek nodded. "It does. You have my attention."

"I am Raziel the Time Streamer, Guardian of the Pillar of Time and Savior of Nosgoth. I was summoned by the Pillars to defend history itself and rid Nosgoth of these parasites." He dropped the snake-tongues on the ground for dramatic effect.

Sensing Hasek's confusion, he half turned and pointed a large finger - more like a claw - at the edifices which had recently come to dominate Nosgoth's horizon. They towered above the mountains. "Those are the Pillars. There are nine in total. As we share a common goal, I have come here to request an alliance with you and the city of Erste Stadt."

That all sounded rather important. Of course, he had no idea what a Time Streamer was, let alone a Guardian. He needed to figure out what in hell was happening here. Since this winged-man, this Time Streamer, seemed intent on discussion, he hoped that a direct approach would be the most fruitful. "Very well. If you'll leave your weapons with my men, we'll go inside and talk."

"With pleasure." The Time Streamer folded up his wings and handed the nearest man his staff and axe. As they walked into the base, Hasek noticed the black claws on the tips of the Raziel's cloven hands, uncannily similar to vampire hands. Hasek tensed inwardly.

"How do you know my name?"

"I divined your name from the time stream. I can look at the past and future the way you read the pages of a book."

"Can you demonstrate that?"

"Your name was not enough?"

"Anyone could have learned that."

Raziel smiled earnestly. There were fangs in his mouth. "If you can think of a test, I'll pass it."

Hasek considered the challenge carefully. It would have to be something Raziel could not discover by other means. "There's something personal I've been keeping in my coat pocket. What is it?"

The Time Streamer's posture shrank and a shadow of hesitation crossed his features. His eyes flickered. He glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him and looked back at Hasek, drawing a deep breath. "I don't wish to be cruel, captain," he said quietly.

Hasek stared at him intently. Did he really know? He glanced at the guards standing on either side of the Time Streamer and quietly dismissed them. "Well?"

"Your wife, Chole's necklace. The chain is bronze and it has a large turquoise pendant in the shape of a hoop." A slight pause while Hasek stood dumbfounded. "May I see it?"

That question almost made him jump. Hesitantly, he reached into his coat pocket and took out the necklace, showing it to him. It was exactly as the Time Streamer described. He clutched his hand at his waist to stop it from trembling. "How did you know it belonged to Chloe?"

"Because you just told me. Why else would you carry a woman's necklace?" He sounded irritated, almost as if he had never wanted to know, and only looked at the necklace for a brief moment before averting his eyes.

She died three years ago in childbirth. Her midwife refused to give him any information on the status of their child, which could only mean that she had produced one of those abominations, a demonic child, which were so frequently responsible for mothers' deaths in Erste Stadt. The church of the Oculites told him that this was the will of fate. Of course, he never accepted that. Hasek sat down at his desk, his hand with Chole's necklace on the table, closed tight. He moistened his lips, barely disguising his fear. "Are you reading my thoughts?" he said softly.

"No. I am a _Time_ Guardian, not a mind reader. Do you not have time streamers in your city? Oracles, clairvoyants, soothsayers?" Raziel said impatiently.

"They keep to themselves in the church. No one is allowed to have their fortune told." Hasek swallowed hard as sweat gathered on his brow. He had always been a closet heretic when it came to the church, until now. Now he did not know what to think. There were terrible consequences for men like him. "Does this have something to do with Oculus Fati?"

The Time Streamer narrowed his eyes. "That false god?"

Hasek blinked, surprised. However, he was not eager to agree. This could be some kind of test. Instead, he said nothing. After a moment Raziel sighed. "No, I plan on dealing with the church later. This is about the Pillars - about Nosgoth's future. Those structures you saw on the horizon were built thousands of years ago by my ancestors, the winged race. Their true name has been lost for eons. Even I have not been able to uncover it."

He paused as if to let this new information sink in. Hasek had never heard of such a race.

"The Pillars were constructed for two reasons: to trap an ancient race called the Hylden, the enemies of Nosgoth, and to maintain the health and prosperity of the land. Thousands of years ago, Nosgoth was covered in vast blankets of green grass and forest. Wildlife flourished. There were herds of deers and elk, countless varieties of songbirds, reptiles, mammals, and insects, nearly all of which are extinct now. Since the Pillars fell the land has slowly decayed. There is barely any life left here. Now that the Pillars have been reborn, we must act quickly to save Nosgoth.

"The vampires you know are suffering under the same corruption as the rest of Nosgoth. Although the Hylden cannot reach us while the Pillars stand, they can take possession of other creatures, a purpose for which the vampires are ideal. I intend to destroy them all - Hylden and vampire - but I need your help. I need an army."

Hasek snapped to attention. He waved his hand. "Hold on. First of all, I only have control over my unit. If you want to form an alliance with the military you need to talk to the brigadier general, Derek Kranz."

"Kranz is in Erste Stadt. You are in the field and can get me into correspondence with Kranz. More to the point, I was _fated_ to contact you. I foresaw our meeting through divination. Our destinies are intertwined," he mused with a curious touch of cynicism. "I am aware that Erste Stadt does not possess the numbers to destroy Nosgoth's vampires outright. You have been chipping away at their population for generations, unable to make a dent. That is about to change. I know of a weapon which will enable us to wipe out vampires entirely. Once we have acquired it, it will take some time to have it in working order. All we need is to hold onto it long enough."

"And you think my unit will be enough for that?"

The Time Streamer nodded. Hasek shook his head.

"I'm still waiting for Kranz's permission to investigate the - the Pillars? You're asking me to divert my entire unit in order to capture some vague sort of weapon based on..." He fumbled for the right word to describe the creature standing in front of him and what he represented. Preferably for his survival he should choose something inoffensive but strong enough to get his point across. Ludicrous. This entire situation was completely ludicrous. If he went to his superior about this he would be forcibly committed to the church's asylum for the insane. No one ever returned.

"I would not ask you to take on such tremendous responsibility at our first meeting. For the time being, all I require from you is a generous supply of parchment, measuring instruments, ink, and quills. In return I can provide maps of the vampire territories - including the Sanctuary of the Vampire Lord."

"That's quite a one-sided trade," Hasek observed, as surprised as he was suspicious. The maps he possessed were incomplete at best. Despite the expense of good parchment, the trade fell clearly in his favor. Raziel smiled slyly.

"It's more balanced than it seems. I have no use for these maps. You will need to be careful with them. They are quite old."

Hasek leaned forward slightly. "Are they up to date?"

"They are now."

He leaned back, cautious. Raziel's resemblance to the vampires aroused his suspicions. And yet, as similar as they were, they were also enormously different. The death-walkers, the most human-like of the vampire breeds, looked less human than the Time Streamer. Raziel cocked his head. He said, "What if we did another challenge to prove my sincerity?"

"You have something in mind?" Hasek said uneasily.

"I do, but it requires a trip. I promise it won't take up much of your time. Your men will not even realize we are gone."

Hasek arched a brow. There was only one way out of his office.

"We are going to take a shortcut." He reached for a pocket attached to his belt and pulled out a silver ring. It looked small in his claw-like hands. "This ring is enchanted with a spell that will allow us to travel a great distance in a matter of seconds. I want you to see Nosgoth in her former glory, to see the land before the Pillars fell. That land is not lost forever. Nosgoth can live again, if we work together. Once you see it, I promise you will understand everything."

Hasek rolled the tortoise pendent in his burly fingers. If Raziel intended to kill him, he went through quite a lot of trouble to get him alone. Besides, Hasek was not important enough to justify such an elaborate deception. He had no family left. He could be replaced.

Strange things were happening in Nosgoth. He glanced at Chole's necklace and solemnly returned it to his pocket. He stood, one hand on his sword. "I'm taking my weapon with me."

"If you insist," Raziel acquiesced. As he firmly gripped Hasek's shoulder, the captain prepared himself for the worst. His flesh tingled as the ring transported them through space.

When his vision cleared he found himself standing next to Raziel in a cave with a bizarre looking cauldron suspended from an elaborate bronze tripod. A blue glow manifested around the Time Streamer's cloven hands. Three circular tiles, wheels within wheels, spun beneath the hanging cauldron. The walls of the chamber rotated with them to reveal a secret passage. The Time Streamer stepped forward, beckoning Hasek to follow.


	6. -NEW- Through Gritted Teeth

**AN: **Dear RLt,

If you've already reviewed "Time Streaming" you may have issues posting a review for this chapter. You can post as a guest (guest reviews are unmoderated) or PM me your review. I'll make sure the mods know. Sorry for the inconvenience. :)

Lots of references to Wasteland Kingdom in this chapter. Oh, and Edhla, if you're reading this... this chapter is for you. ;)

* * *

Moebius once said that his Guardianship provided him with _a certain level of omniscience_. Deep within the Oracle's Cave, Raziel had discovered the extent and limitations of a Time Streamer's power.

Looking into his own past came easiest. He could peer into the destinies of beings whose fates were closely intertwined with his, such as Kain and, to a lesser extent, his brothers and Hasek, and view fragments of eras that he had been to. Having names and dates to focus on relieved some of the strain.

In contrast, he was blind to the fates of unknown beings. He could see their paths in a broad sense, yes, but not enough to manipulate them. The fractured state of the time stream in Nosgoth's present made divining the future particularly difficult. Many paths opened before him. Some led to temporary salvation, others to certain destruction, but he exhausted himself before he could follow them to their ends.

Earlier, Raziel had brought the captain to the secret chamber behind Moebius's statue and showed him the divining cauldron, where he had first delved into the time stream with the knowledge granted to him by his token. Using the water-filled cauldron, he had shown Captain Hasek a vision of Nosgoth at the time of the Pillars' corruption, the year of Kain's birth. This was the deepest Raziel could peer into the time stream. Any deeper and exhaustion would take him within minutes. The process left him visibly weakened - but accomplished the desired effect.

At first Hasek failed to appreciate the visions that appeared in the still water. However, after ten minutes, Hasek became slightly unfocused and his skin paled. He seemed to have fallen strangely ill, as if something deep within him withered from sudden awareness of a secret need for green things. Raziel knew the feeling. After the experience Hasek agreed to give him the things he asked for. He also agreed to consider Raziel's other proposal.

As Raziel entered the Chronoplast chamber alone with several rolls of parchment under his arm, along with a few bronze casings he recovered from an adjacent storage room, his mind drew a thousand dizzying connections between the things he saw around them. The Chronoplast was a domical chamber divided into three levels held up by arching square columns of white marble and blood jasper. On the highest level was a round gate, currently inactive. Brass cogs, dials, and gears adorned each of the platforms, rising upward and outward toward the highest point. An arcane mechanism hung from the domed ceiling; pincher-like, mechanical arms embraced around a glowing, yellow-green orb. Several smaller arms surrounded the orb, each one with a bulb on the end representing a planet. Surrounding the mechanism was a dark void twinkling with stars. He paused at the threshold, drawing a slow, deep breath until his mind cleared.

The experience of walking into this chamber called to mind one of his earliest memories. On the night of his vampiric re-birth, he had been led from his crypt by one of Kain's minions and made to stand in a large memorial chamber while he waited for his brothers. The mausoleum was a memorial to the leaders of the Sarafan Order, an extinct order of knights, sorcerers and priests dedicated to the protection of the Circle of Nine and the eradication of vampires, but he had not known that at the time. He was a child in an adult body, with an adult mind, and the world was new to him. A pale light streaming through a crack in the ceiling had caught his eye. He looked up and saw the stars.

He knew what they were - stars. He knew that some stars formed patterns called constellations, that they had names, and that these could somehow be used for navigation. It had been as if he had read a book about stars once decades ago and was now seeing them for the first time. He did not know his own name, his mother's face, and barely had any concept of what he had become, yet he knew about stars.

That was how he felt now. Ever since picking up that hourglass in Moebius's secret chamber he had been beset upon by mysterious and incomplete knowledge. He carried the hourglass at all times. The thought of parting with this token filled him with inexplicable anxiety.

The bronze casings contained Moebius's star charts. They were the only star records he could find in the complex. During the early age of the empire, before Kain's smokestacks blotted out the sky, Raziel had had difficulty adjusting to life in the post-war Nosgoth and took up stargazing to fill his time. With the help of his gifted fledgling, Alexander, he made up several charts of Nosgoth's night sky. Those charts were lost to him now, stolen or destroyed during the Razielim purge.

Seating himself in the entryway, he spread out the parchment and ink Captain Hasek had given him. Raziel opened the first bronze casing and unrolled the star chart at his feet. Unlike the star charts he made during the early centuries of the empire, Moebius's were as technical as they were dazzling. They were written on smooth, black parchment that drifted between dark blue and purple depending on how he turned it, as if it had depth, using a silver ink that shimmered brightly. He felt as though he could reach into the scroll and pluck out the stars one by one.

Moebius's chart used star names from before Kain's empire. By wracking his brain Raziel deduced that Segnis was Sanguine and Kastra was Magnus and painstakingly found his bearings from there, until he opened another star chart and found that many of the stars had changed position or even disappeared. Of course, Moebius's star charts were perilously out of date. No new charts had been made since his death nearly two thousand years ago and over two thirds of Moebius's collection was missing.

None of Moebius's scrolls aligned with the star field shown in the ceiling of the Chronoplast. Since the stars in the void were clearly some type of arcane magic, Raziel deduced that this pattern must reflect the current state of Nosgoth's night sky. Using telekensis and a bone quill he made note of the orientation so that he could find his way back to the present.

Apart from the stars themselves, the star charts also contained golden diagrams showing the position of each of the dials. Nine dials needed to be adjusted in order to reach the desired time period. The dials did not use conventional units of time as measured by sundials, clocks or hourglasses. Rather, they consulted the infallible movements of the heavens. The lowest dials needed to be set according to the position of the sun and moon, charting the hour, day, and season of the desired destination in time. The remaining dials corresponded to the celestial positions of the planets and various stars, representing years, decades, centuries, and millennia.

Raziel clicked his jaw. He sensed the relationship between the dials and star charts almost intuitively, but the technical challenges, such as determining the settings for an unknown time period, gave him a minor stress headache.

When he threatened Moebius into setting the Chronoplast in the Sarafan Stronghold for him the old man made the process look effortless. Of course, that Chronoplast had been much smaller and less complex than the one here. Perhaps its operation was simpler. Moebius also held several thousand years of experience over him. Raziel was merely a novice. Even with the knowledge granted to him the sheer amount of new information was overwhelming. He sat back and closed his eyes for a moment to let it all sink in.

At some point in time, Moebius's library must have contained information on time streaming. He had discovered the library on his second visit to the Oracle's Cave after the storm. A fire had destroyed the library ages ago. Among the ashes he found tiny fragments of parchment, some with letters still visible. He had few doubts about the identity of the fire starter.

If he could use these star charts to travel to an era when the library stood in tact he should be able to access Moebius's tomes and take notes. There might be other star charts he could copy as well. He did not feel comfortable bringing back physical books.

But there was another problem. The most recent star chart he could find appeared to have been written over a century before Moebius's death. Going back to that time period meant risking a run in with the Time Guardian himself. If such a thing was possible - and with the time stream in its current state, it might well be - their meeting could irrevocably alter Nosgoth's present. Raziel placed Moebius's star chart side by side with the one he had copied from the void.

Using these two charts he should be able to come up with a date when it would be safe to travel to the library in Nosgoth's past. While helping Raziel with his star charts Alexander had come up with an equation to predict the motions of the stars and planets in advance. They once used it to impress Kain by predicting an eclipse. He could barely remember it now, but they fooled around with it often enough that he thought it might come to him if he went through the motions.

If only he had Alexander here. His calculations were always reliable. That was why Raziel gave him the job of overseeing the technical aspects of running the clan - keeping track of the slave population, monitoring resources, and other tasks for which Raziel lacked the necessary patience and cold logic of numbers. All of Raziel's brothers had someone like Alexander in charge of keeping their territories running smoothly. Out of all the clans, Raziel always thought that Alexander was the best at what he did.

As Raziel moved the quill over the fresh parchment a lump grew in his throat. Alexander possessed a passion for numbers and details which was inspiring, if not a little disturbing, and the courage to contradict his elders when necessary, yet he was never arrogant. He possessed dozens of odd little quirks that made him distinct from other Razielim. Most fledglings were shy toward blood and gore. Alexander acquired an immediate fascination with the bodies of the dead. His interest was analytical, not depraved, and as he grew into adulthood he became increasingly obsessed with the world around him. The smallest thing could irritate him. On more than one occasion Raziel had caught him counting floor tiles with a severe frown, as if he meant to have some nasty words with the architect.

Based on the scraps of information Raziel recovered from his ruined territory, Alexander must have lived until the end of the Razielim. That gave him enough time enter the state of change. He would have grown his own set of wings before he died. Did Alexander ever fly?

A drop of clear liquid splashed onto Raziel's equation. He blinked, startled, suddenly aware of the tears creeping down the sides of his face. He swallowed and quickly wiped them away with the back of his cloven hand.

Alexander was dead now, like the rest of his clan. Charon, Valerius, Warin, Klara, Ithuriel, Sarai, Fayruz, Justine, Ava, Cenric, and so many other faces, thousands of them, more than he knew by name, wiped from the face of Nosgoth less than a decade after his execution. They died out more than five hundred years ago. From Raziel's perspective, they had been gone for more than a thousand. It was shameful to go on mourning them. He stoically pressed on with his work.

Two hundred years after Moebius's death; based on what he had learned, Kain should be incapacitated in this time period, so he would not need to worry about him wandering into the cave, nor would Moebius be a problem. Raziel manually turned the hands on each of the dials. As he did so the planetarium began to spin. After he set the last dial, white light spilled from the portal and the chamber howled a haunting melody. The white light poured back into the portal and swirled inward, creating a golden vortex. Everything was ready.

At the last minute Raziel hesitated. Although he felt confident in his guesswork, he would not know for certain whether he had charted the correct course until he stepped through the vortex. Instead of taking all of his supplies with him he decided to only take the notes he required to return to the present. This way he would not have to carry so much back and forth if he made a miscalculation.

With some trepidation, he stepped through the portal into a golden hallway filled with crackling lights. White mist swirled around his boots. Although the ground felt solid, his footsteps were silent, perhaps drowned out by the chorus of ghostly voices whispering from the void around him. A faint breeze disturbed his hair. As he walked down the hall he experienced a strange sense of vertigo. Dimension ceased to exist. Every direction simultaneously pointed up and down, left and right.

Abruptly, a point of darkness appeared at the end of the tunnel. As he drew closer he saw that it was filled with stars. He closed his eyes and stepped through it carefully.

* * *

_1,470 Years Ago  
_

* * *

As the light fizzled Raziel blinked, disoriented. Once his eyes had acclimated to the darkness of the Chronoplast chamber he noticed that there was no blood anywhere on the stairs or chamber floor. His battle with Kain had not yet occurred. Unlike the Chronoplast in the present, the chamber door was sealed.

He started toward the stairs when he was suddenly overtaken by an oppressive mental fog. He stopped, touching his forehead in confusion. He had made it into the past, just as he had many times before, but this time something felt wrong. He felt sick somehow. Raziel gripped the hourglass which hung from his neck by a chain and proceeded cautiously.

He tried to remember into the future. Nothing came. Stopping on the third step, he closed his eyes and concentrated, rolling the hourglass in his palm. The sensation of being blind to the future was both frightening and a great relief.

Suddenly, Raziel heard movement and voices from behind the sealed door. He tensed sharply. He had brought no weapons to defend himself. He expected to be alone. Who were they? Treasure hunters? Bandits? How could they make it this deep into Moebius's complex? "Something has come through. Ready your weapons!"

Raziel's heart leapt into his throat. Nearly dropping his notes, he jumped up the stairs and hid himself behind a column, trembling. This was wrong! Kain should not be here this soon! What went wrong? Had he miscalculated?

As the seconds passed his breathing started to settle. Taking a chance, he glanced around the corner and saw that the chamber door was still sealed.

More whispering. Only Kain's booming voice penetrated the barrier. "Find a way to open this door! Now!"

There was nowhere to hide. He did not have time to reset the Chronoplast to return to his own time. The hallway leading from the Chronoplast was too narrow for him to dart past them without being caught. Compromising the time stream was the least of his worries. Kain would no doubt turn the Soul Reaver on him after he captured him. He might even kill him outright. Here he was, inside of one of Moebius's devices, wearing an hourglass identical to the Time Streamer's Pillar Token.

The mechanism controlling the door started to grind. Raziel snapped to his senses. Rolling up his notes and tucking them under his belt, he crossed his arms over his chest, assuming the position by instinct. He did not know if he could still use this spell. It was a gift from his Benefactor, a power he attained only as a wraith, and his last hope.

Now the door was clawing open, sluggish after centuries of disuse. Time seemed to slow down. As he concentrated an eerie chill crept over his claws and spread through his arms with a green glow, over his shoulders and down his chest, until he became cold and weightless. Silence rang in his ears as the Chronoplast chamber warped and descended into green haze.

(~ Raziel collapsed against the back of the column, head throbbing. He grabbed the edge of the column and looked down the steps breathlessly. The chamber door opened like a mouth, frozen. There was no sign of Kain and his men. They were material beings, belonging to the land of the living, and did not manifest easily in the land of the dead where Raziel was now. He grasped at his neck and released an immense sigh when his claws closed around the hourglass. Glancing at his hip, he saw his notes had made it as well. Everything he carried crossed into the Spectral Realm with him.

Lowering himself to the ground, he sat at the top of the stairs and put his head in his claws, his laughter echoing off the walls of the chamber. He swallowed hard. That was too close.

Now all he needed to do was get out of the Chronoplast chamber and find somewhere to hide until Kain and his lackeys left the complex. Once they were gone he could use the Chronoplast to get back to his own time and figure out where the hell he went wrong. He ran his cloven hands through his dark hair. The tips of his fingers tingled. Lifting his hands in front of him, he flexed his fingers, frowning. That was odd. He did not remember experiencing any numbness in the Spectral Realm as a wraith. The sensation seemed to be slowly spreading. What would happen if it reached his core?

Perhaps he should not stay long enough to find out. Getting to his feet, he leapt down the stairs like a frog and left the Chronoplast chamber behind. By the time he reached the hidden entrance to the complex the numbness had spread to his shoulders and past his knees and his chest felt heavy. Pushing through the discomfort, he continued onward until he had left the cave entirely. He found himself standing outside the Oracle's Cave at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by rocky slopes and pine trees.

Several pairs of gleaming saucer eyes peered at him through the distorted trees. Turning in their direction, Raziel saw a group of pale skinned, troll like beasts with long shaggy hair and mouths overflowing with jagged teeth. He instinctively backed away. These were sluagh, the soul devouring vermin of the Spectral Realm. Fatigued, numb, and without the wraith blade, Raziel was defenseless against them.

He crashed through the sparse brush at the edge of the clearing and ducked behind a large tree. There, huddled near the edge of a sheer cliff, he hugged his chest in a futile attempt to coax some feeling into his flesh. His teeth burned like icicles. If the sluagh did not kill him this numbness would. He scanned his surroundings, seeking an exit.

In the past he experienced great difficulty in returning to the Material Realm. During his tenure as the so-called _Angel of Death_, his Benefactor had provided him with conduits to ease the transition between the realms of the dead and the living. Hunched behind his crude shelter, Raziel failed to find any trace of the rippling bright blue light that once offered passage. Later, after losing his Benefactor's favor through rebellion, he improvised by gathering matter from corpses. The ethereal purple gasses that signified a useable corpse were no where to be seen. He shivered involuntarily. At least the sluagh did not seem interested in pursuing him.

The realm that had once been his natural habitat now treated him as a foreign entity to be purged and destroyed. Even with his life at stake, he could not abide the sting of alienation. He had lost another home.

He did not know if he could use the same spell to return to the Material Realm at will. That never worked before. However, as a wraith, neither had he been able to carry physical objects with him into the Spectral Realm, such as the hourglass and his notes still on his person. His resurrection appeared to have altered his relationship with this plane. There might be hope. He lifted his unfeeling hands into position and prayed, "Please..." ~)

Light and color returned to the world. The sun in the violet sky nearly blinded him. His knees hit the ground with a numb thump. He gasped involuntarily and dug his claws into the brown leaf litter. Between breaths he heard grass crunching under foot, approaching him from behind.

Throwing himself forward with his hands, he scrambled over the edge of the cliff and opened his wings, still numb from the Spectral Realm. Flapping like a wounded bat, he tumbled, a clumsy descent of falling and gliding out of control. His shoulder collided with the ground first. The impact sent him somersaulting down the slope like a wagon wheel. Digging his claws into the rocky earth, he managed to anchor himself and slammed down onto his chest. He slid this way for about a foot before coming to an uneasy stop.

Through the trees he saw two humaniod vampires looking down from the edge of the cliff ten meters above. Raziel crawled backward into the dusky shadows.

"Did you see that?"

"It flew down there. Some kind of animal?"

Raziel's mouth fell open. He recognized those voices. They were the offspring of Vorador, Kain's former mentor. These vampires came from Kain's retreat in the southern mountains. They watched over Raziel and his brothers when they were young, helping Kain to raise and teach them, to prepare Kain's favored sons for their future roles as lieutenants in the vampire army Kain would use to conquer Nosgoth. His vision blurred, stinging. The vampires lingered for several seconds.

"No point chasing after it. Kain will have our guts for garters if he finds us away from our post. Let's go back."

The second vampire nodded and followed the other away from the cliff. Lowering his gaze, Raziel blinked to clear the moisture from his eyes. Instead of arriving two hundred years after Moebius's death he had come through the Chronoplast over five hundred years after the fact, at a time when he and his brothers still lived in Kain's mountain retreat. He still remembered his bitter disappointment when Kain denied his request to accompany him to the Oracle's Cave in the north.

Bowing his head, Raziel buried his face in his arms, disturbing the dusty autumn soil with his breath and drawing it into his nostrils as he hissed and gulped at the barbed thing cutting into his throat.

He knew that Kain would return from this expedition changed, a crueler master than before. He had not thought about that day in centuries. Now the connection seemed so obvious. This was the day Kain spoke of in the Chronoplast, the day he discovered the destiny Moebius had laid out for them. He had known Raziel's fate a millennium before his execution. Raziel bit his tongue, head against the ground, stifling a meek whimper. These revelations were not what was driving him to despair. He would not be in this time period if he still had Alexander. For the first time since his ill fated venture into the territory of his forsaken clan, Raziel succumbed to grief.

Beneath the burning sunset, Raziel retrieved Moebius's hourglass from a pile of leaf litter and slipped it around his tear stained neck. Seated on the ground, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, observing how the dying light threw bright shards off the gold casing. Whatever magic enchanted this token made it far more durable than ordinary glass. He closed his cloven hand around it and braced himself against all his loss.

Was his clan still alive in another time? They must be, but he could never see them again.

* * *

_Present Day  
_

* * *

The next time Raziel met with Captain Hasek he seemed to have recovered from the malaise that befell him deep in Moebius's complex. Two days had passed since their first meeting. As Hasek led him into his office the other vampire hunters spread out around him in a wake, keeping their distance. Raziel watched them uneasily, masking his distaste. As the descendents of Razielim slaves they were as close as he could come to meeting a living member of his clan. It was a shame.

Alone with Hasek, for a brief instant, Raziel caught the haunted look in the captain's eyes. "You have been thinking about what I showed you. It must be hard getting somewhere so beautiful off your mind when you live in this time."

Hasek merely sighed. "The brigadier general is _not_ going to believe me when I tell him about you."

"Then lie," Raziel said harshly. "Say whatever you need to get him out here. Leave the rest to me. But you needn't worry about that for now. There are still a few tasks I need to accomplish before we meet." He forced his voice to soften. It stung. "I need your help. I'm counting on you to keep this request between us."

"I have good reasons for keeping my mouth shut."

Raziel eyed him cagily. If Hasek ever felt tempted, he could give him a few more reasons to keep this to himself. The time stream was of little help here. With freewill in play, almost anything could happen. He handed the captain a small roll of paper from under his belt. "I assume you have mathematicians in your city."

The captain gave him a questioning look. Raziel nodded. It was alright to look. Hasek unrolled the paper. As he scanned the equations his eyebrows slowly traveled up his forehead. An extra page of notes on the operations was included. Based on what he had seen on the flags and uniforms of the vampire hunters he knew that they used the same alphabet as Kain's empire, but he was not so sure about their mathematical language.

After setting himself up as Savior of Nosgoth Raziel cringed to reveal his shortcomings. Unfortunately, these same short comings forced his hand. He maintained a blank, serious expression to hide his nervousness. "These equations are used for time travel. I promise, it's not as complicated as it sounds. I've been working on them since we last met. I think I'm close to a solution but I need a real mathematician to make them work."

Hasek looked cast away. "I've never seen anything like this..." He glanced at Raziel. "What do you mean by time travel?"

"To travel to different eras, periods in history. Let me worry about the details. Can you do as I've asked?"

He was silent for a moment, scanning the pages with dubious eyes. He glanced at Raziel again, uncertainly. "Why is this a secret?"

Raziel growled, "Because I say it is."

Hasek did not appear surprised. Walking to his desk, he took some twine out of the drawer and used it to wrap up the scroll. "This may take a while. I have a friend who knows someone who might be able to help you. If he can't do it, he probably knows someone who can. I'll keep this quiet."

That hardly came as a relief. He would need to keep a close eye on Hasek through the time stream, in case he decided to turn. If these humans discovered he was a vampire that would be the end of it. This time, he could not save Nosgoth alone. He needed them as much as they needed him.


	7. -NEW- Master of My Fate

**AN: **Dear RLt,

If you've already reviewed "An Unruly Child" you may have issues posting a review for this chapter. You can post as a guest (guest reviews are unmoderated) or PM me your review. I'll make sure the mods know. Sorry for the inconvenience. :)

Hey! Look at that! The last chapter split into two chapters! Isn't that grand? *shot*

Just one more to go!

* * *

Over the next week and a half Raziel poured himself into his work. His days and nights were divided between flying, hunting, meeting with Hasek, trading with the vampire hunters, and experimenting. Each time he left the Oracle's Cave he found himself surrounded by reminders of the dead. He longed to return to past centuries, when Nosgoth's natural splendor blinded him to grief and regret. Until then, only staying in motion kept loss at bay.

Blood remained the most difficult challenge facing him. There were a few groups of feral humans living in the mountains and plains east of the Lake of Lost Souls. Although there was barely any water to speak of, the smoke was thinner there, enough to allow a few small animals and plants to cling to life. It often took him an entire day to find these wild humans, if he found them. They lived like animals, but they were smart, and despite living under constant hunger, he was beginning to develop a grudging respect for their practical ingenuity. He felt a similar respect for Captain Hasek and his vampire hunters.

In the meantime Raziel honed his skills with divining in the secret chamber near the underground lake. Sleeping seemed to diminish the mental exhaustion brought on by viewing the time stream, so he did it often, about once a day, usually less. He limited himself to two hours at most. The urge to sleep had not bothered him since his resurrection. Sleep was, fortunately, merely a personal choice. Strange dreams plagued him.

These dreams were not like the self-induced visions he conjured from Moebius's cauldron. They were chaotic amalgamations of people and events, metaphorical and obtuse. One involved a headless wyrm in Termogent swamp. When he approached the body the serpent suddenly began to thrash, dark emerald scales flashing in the starlight, and a new head sprouted from the bloody stump of its neck in an explosion of gore. The monster gnashed its steel teeth. Rows and rows of swords gleamed in its mouth, sprouting from its gums by the hilt; rapiers and bastard swords and flamberges and many others. Its citrine yellow glare burned like hellfire. He awoke smelling sulfur.

Once their imagery was unraveled they offered clues that aided him in his plan to wrest the Soul Reaver from Kain. The dream about the wyrm proved especially helpful. The dreams he dreaded most were pointlessly cruel, with no greater purpose than to shackle him to the darkest corners of his mind and torment him.

A few times he dreamed of the abyss and the Lake of the Dead. One day his dreams forced him to relieve the day of his execution in horrific detail. Somehow his mind seemed to draw out the moment when Kain tore the wings from his back, such that he became convinced he could feel the tendons snapping one by one like brittle ropes. Other times he dreamed of falling. These dreams were terrible, but they were far from the worst.

Closing his eyes one night, he saw his wife, Klara, being chased down by two Dumahim as the Razielim city burned around them. The Dumahim were not the human-looking vampires he remembered from before his execution. They were modern Dumahim, with leech-like tongues, massive claws and monstrous heads filled with horrid teeth. As she ran the orange flames lit off her curls, turning her hair to fire. He tried to run to her, to defend her from her attackers and buy her more time to flee, but his feet seemed fused to the ground. He watched, helpless as the Dumahim caught up to her. Their claws raked across her back, tearing muscle from bone and throwing her to her knees. One of them dragged her up by heir hair. She shrieked, slashing with her claws. Her cloven hands used to coax beauty from a harp. Now they were her last defense, but the Dumahim armor was too thick. Raziel screamed - but nothing he said could make them stop. He could not remember how the dream ended, only waking up in tears, sick with grief and longing.

He stopped divining for three days to avoid sleep after that. How rare it was to sleep and not dream. He missed it.

Most of all he missed his twin soul, the wraith blade, the spectral embodiment of the Soul Reaver. Until he lost it he never realized how much he had grown to adore its unwavering companionship. Of all the creatures he met along his journey, it was the wraith blade's company he favored most: responsive, sympathetic, uncritical, sometimes overpowering, but always vital and enthralling. When he thought of all he had lost it was the wraith blade that kept him from total despair. Without it he felt small, defenseless, and deeply, tangibly alone.

And yet, in spite of everything, there were moments when his soul burned with revitalizing fire. He missed his clan, his wives, the wraith blade, even some of his brothers, but not creature comforts. Everything he did was working toward a goal. He fortified himself by feasting on the rewards of his new life. He did not rely on others for answers, he discovered them through work. Even small successes felt significant. Hunting for blood in the wastes imbued him with deep satisfaction. High above Nosgoth, he strengthened his wings and savored the redemption of flight. He saved himself because of flight.

Most of the time he flew between the Oracle's Cave and Dumah's abandoned city. Of course he also flew between the cave and Razielim territory. These flights were strictly for business. He completed them efficiently, with no thoughts of play. On certain days and at certain times the smoke became thick and blinding, making high altitude flight difficult or impossible.

The limitations imposed upon him by Nosgoth's polluted sky frustrated him so much that on some nights he flew east to escape the smoke or simply remained in his hunting grounds until the burn from his wings grounded him. The body of a wraith knew no fatigue. He was dead then, untouchable. A vampire's body did grow tired if he strained it too much. Flying sapped his strength at first, particularly when he was hungry, yet the ache became something to savor. If he grew too tired he used Moebius's ring to return to the cave. As time passed, he relied on it less and less.

Kain could soar on the wings of bats. This was Raziel's body, these were his wings. The sky belonged to him and he to it. He did not need to become something lesser to find his home above the ground. He skimmed the clouds with his claws, folded up his wings and let himself free fall for miles, cold air rushing over him in ablution, until nothing mattered but the blood in his veins.

Falling from this height used to terrify him. He dreamed about falling and being unable to stop. These dreams inevitably ended with burning, always crashing and burning and drowning in liquid fire. The first time he fell he did it _because_ it made him afraid.

He almost did not do it. He told himself he would, that he needed to face his fears to become stronger, but his wings would not listen. He could not make them close. Even when he knew he would not die from this fall, some irrational part of him kept insisting that he would because something would go horribly wrong, as it always did, and because he was intelligent he backed up his paranoia with somewhat sound reasoning. Finally, he decided he would simply have to trick himself by closing his eyes and doing it. This would be exactly like taking that first leap into water after he stole the soul of his aquatic brother Rahab. The burning only existed in his mind. He could overcome his peril.

When he folded his wings and felt himself start to plummet for the first time the vortex of the abyss into which he had been thrown on the day of his execution roared in his ears and he swore he could smell the burning water rushing up to meet him. He remembered the stench of burning flesh as the thick mists pelted him on his descent, the massive screaming walls of blue-green water and hissing white foam slowly closing around him like a fist. His eyes opened and there was nothing there - but there was in his mind, more vivid than a dream.

For sixty seconds or more he fell. Then he opened his wings again and the air wrenched him up by the pit of his stomach so hard that he spun out of control and fought against gravity and clawing panic the whole way down and somehow still landed like a dirty feather. He thought he would never want to fly again. That thought lasted for all of twenty minutes, before he gathered his nerves.

Now when he fell it felt like letting go, like floating in the void when his spirit hovered inside the Soul Reaver, hanging forever in that moment when absolutely nothing existed to harm him and his whole consciousness extinguished in peaceful ecstasy, as easy as blowing out a candle.

When he opened his wings it felt like rewriting history. This time the howling waters did not explode over him, his ribs did not shatter and his flesh did not strip, his eyeballs did not melt out of his skull, he did not suffocate in fire and sink into the underworld like a stone. He simply opened his wings and flew away. And then he fell again, just for the mockery of it all.

He did not feel right in his own body until he learned how to fall. Kain did not own him. That Parasite did not own him. The Soul Reaver did not own him. Every bone and sinew, every drop of blood belonged entirely to him and no one else. He was Raziel. He was in control of his destiny.

One night, upon returning from a successful hunt, something caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise as he glided over the Oracle's Cave. He knew this feeling well by now. The same way that a smell could trigger a memory, his senses stirred nagging intuitions about the future. He circled the cave, searching for potential signs of danger, and fluttered down for a landing.

Vampire tracks littered the ground and inside the forward chamber of the Oracle's Cave, but these were a few days old. He knew they did not represent the source of his anxiety. As he made his way to the secret entrance to Moebius's complex, he searched his thoughts until the source of his unease became clear. A messenger from Kain would soon arrive at the cave.

Raziel was outraged, though not surprised. He knew Kain would never keep his promise to allow him to return to the Sanctuary at his own choosing. To make matters more irritating, she was someone he used to know. Raziel began preparing for her arrival.

Within half an hour the door to Moebius's complex spun open and the female Turelim lumbered into the main chamber. Turel's clan evolution did not lend itself to the female form. At over six feet tall she was short by Turelim standards. Her leathery flesh bulged obscenely with enormous bundles of muscle that dominated her upper body and dwarfed her lithe legs. She walked on her toes like a dog on two legs - that is, with obvious discomfort. As was common for men and women in the empire she wore little armor to speak of, as if to announce both her sexuality and lustfulness in battle, though her scanty chain mail and leather breastplate (her breasts nearly non-existent), flowing loin cloth and stockings rendered her no less grotesque. She flinched as a hand-axe embedded itself into the wall near her enormous head.

Her ears folded behind her head with a loud rustle. They were almost half the size of Raziel's wings. She craned her head, seeking the source of the attack. She spotted him almost instantly. He hung from the wall like a spider several meters beyond her reach. Her beastly lips parted. "Raziel."

"Hello Nogah," he replied with false amicability.

A canine smile spread across her snout, revealing rows of predatory teeth and a monstrous set of fangs. She had been beautiful when Raziel knew her. Turel chose his wives based on looks rather than personality. Centuries of exposure to Nosgoth's corruption had changed her into a beast, like the rest of the vampire clans, yet while her voice now resembled a guttural howl it carried a distinct ring of flattery. "You recognize me."

He almost hated to disappoint her. Well, not really. "No, I've been expecting you. How are Ket and Sela?"

Nogah's jowls fell. She lowered her massive head like a beaten dog. "Not well."

"All dead?"

"Do you care?" she growled.

To tell the truth, he did take a little pleasure in the thought that Nogah might have suffered as much as he. She deserved it. After Turel's betrayal she was no longer his sister-in-law. "I am curious how Turel's clan is surviving in his absence."

Dumah and Turel had been wiped from the board before Raziel's resurrection in the Lake of the Dead. Dumah had been killed by vampire hunters, although they did a poor job of disposing of the body. Raziel had only needed to remove the stakes from his heart to call back his soul and fight him. Turel had been harder to locate. He had disappeared mysteriously at least a century ago. However, whereas Dumah's clan had been reduced to vagabonds and slaves, he was not sure how Turel's clan fared.

Nogah huffed, puffing out her cheeks. "The clan... They are well, I suppose. Most of our elders perished during the power shift. Only Zilah and I remain. She leads the Turelim now. I stay with my Lord Kain for protection. He finds my strength useful."

Raziel lifted his eyebrows. Zilah, Turel's first wife, was the only woman his brother could be said to truly love and it was no wonder why. They had been together for over six hundred years at the time of Raziel's execution - a long time by any standard. With her ambitions it did not surprise him that she sought power after her husband's unexplained vanishing, but he never thought she would go as far as killing all potential rivals. Ket and Sela were sweet things. Raziel could not imagine they posed Zilah any threat. That was quite unsettling. Now he almost understood Kain's concern about the clans turning on them, with Zilah in charge of the Turelim. "I'm sorry to hear that..."

Nogah snorted. "Your axe says otherwise."

"I missed on purpose."

"Oh, that's cute. Come down here and try it again, little bat." A blue glow surrounded the axe as Nogah telekentically wrenched it from the wall. She spun it around in the air, levitating it with the blade facing Raziel. Raziel tensed.

"You _don't_ want to do that."

"You're forgetting about an eye for an eye," Nogah taunted humorlessly. "Come on, be a sport. I'll probably miss."

Regretting his attempt at snide conversation, he tried to change topics. "Kain sent you with a message. I assume he chose you because he believed I would be reluctant to kill an old friend."

"Kain knows you better than that," Nogah growled bitterly. Drool dripped from her peeling maw. "Do you honestly think I had the slightest idea what was happening when he condemned you to die? That any of us did? We didn't know a damn thing until you were at the bottom of the lake. What was I to do? Leave the empire - my husband, my family!? What gives you the conscious to hurl an axe at me when I've come here unarmed?"

Raziel clenched his jaw and gave her a hard look. _Unarmed_ was a relative term. He had fought unarmed Turelim. They were living weapons. Nogah held his gaze. "I don't care what you did to our brothers. You had the right. But their guilt should not stain all of our hands." After a long stalemate, the blue glow around the axe faded and the weapon dropped to the ground with a clatter. "Kain wants you to come home."

He furrowed his brow. "His words?"

Nogah nodded. Raziel looked away. Taking two steps forward, she said, "He wants to work together."

Raziel shot her a glare. "No, he wants me to work for him. I refuse to be his subordinate."

"He's done as you asked. All the smokestacks have been shutdown."

"That means nothing. I know he's been spying on me. I've found evidence of Dumahim in the cave's forward chamber."

Nogah raised one ear in question. She sneered. "Don't blame your rat problem on us. You're the one living in a cave."

Raziel seethed, fangs bared. As his anger cooled his heart became like stone. "Nogah, where were you when Klara died?"

This caused Nogah to take a step back. Her bestial face could not hide her shock. Raziel was relentless, "When Dumah destroyed my clan, did you offer her sanctuary? Or did you turn your back while she suffered with the rest of my wives and children? She was your friend!"

Nogah cowered as if wounded. She stopped and scowled at him indirectly, without passion. Her voice softened, choking, "That was cruel, Raziel. You have changed."

"It seems I'm the only one who has," he replied darkly. He paused in consideration. "I found Turel. Azumith the Dimension Guardian and Moebius the Time Guardian worked together to steal him from his proper place and time. They imprisoned him in a filthy pit beneath Avernus Cathedral to be used as a vessel for Hash'ak'gik. They held him for centuries, using and tormenting him, until he went mad. Turel - who dedicated his life in blind loyalty to his maker, renounced Kain at the moment of his death and he was right to do so. Kain did not try to save him. He did not even try to save Dumah and he destroyed me without a shred of remorse. Do you think he will save you? Do you think he will save any of us?"

Nogah said nothing at first. She continued staring at the ground. Slowly, she shook her head and turned to go. "Goodbye, Raziel. I'll deliver your message."

After she left Raziel dropped from the wall and called the axe into his hand. He inspected the edge, finding it chipped. It was almost at the end of its life anyway. He returned it to the sheath on his leg and paused to let his head clear.

It was unlike Kain to request an audience with him using something approaching politeness. He wondered what this meant.


	8. -NEW- Mirrors in Time

**AN: **Dear RLt,

If you've already reviewed "Another Name for Madness" you may have issues posting a review for this chapter. You can post as a guest (guest reviews are unmoderated) or PM me your review. I'll make sure the mods know. Sorry for the inconvenience. :)

Moebius's library is based off of the Moebius's Museum area in Blood Omen. Also, if you're confused, read "Notable Paradox 1: The Reaver Paradox" and "Notable Paradox 3: Kain's Paradox" on my profile. Reading the other paradoxes might help, too.

PS - This chapter makes 200,000 words on this account. Also, Time Streamer is officially the longest continuous story I've ever written. Neat.

* * *

When he experimented with the Chronoplast using Moebius's star charts he never ventured far from the Oracle's Cave. He was still at great risk of crossing paths with Moebius. Although the previous Time Guardian seemed unaware of his comings and goings, he minimized the risk of exposure by traveling only to times when he knew Moebius would be absent from the Oracle's Cave, which he could ascertain through divination, and kept his trips brief. Using Moebius's library would require several uninterrupted hours of study, so he left it untouched as he passed by.

He had already experimented with bringing objects back to the present: a colorful tavern sign from Vasserbünde, a blacksmith's hammer from Uschtenheim, a gorgeous brass astrolabe from a gypsy camp, and a bundle of wild daffodils, his first experiment, which he had been keeping alive in an old clay pot filled with water from the lower chamber. None of these anachronisms left any noticeable impact on the time stream. History appeared to be more stable in the centuries prior to his Benefactor's demise. In the past, the Parasite still lived. However, like Moebius, It seemed oblivious to his presence. If he was correct his plan should work perfectly.

Though his study of the time stream, Raziel also learned of the repercussions that followed Kain's actions in the Sarafan Stronghold during the era of Janos Audron's death, when history reshuffled around their paradox. This would prove vital.

Thanks to Captain Hasek he was able to get his equations into the hands of a professor in Erste Stadt. How Hasek convinced this scholar to complete the equations without arousing his suspicion, frankly, Raziel did not care. They worked now.

The next step was to gain access to Moebius's library during a time when it was still in tact, after Moebius's death and while the younger Kain was out of the way.

* * *

_1,800 Years Ago  
_

* * *

Moebius's library was not what Raziel expected. The library itself occupied a single wall and spanned three large shelves. Several display cases occupied the opposite wall, containing a variety of strange objects, a miniature museum. Two shields were hung on the wall above the display cases, along with a sword, and standing proud between the display cases, a marble pedestal displayed the helm of a Sarafan Inquisitor. Raziel recognized it instantly. This helm had haunted the darkest regions of his mind ever since his first, bitterly brief meeting with Janos Audron. The sight made his stomach turn.

The helm was a work of art, silver and gold plated with an orange tassel and gold-leaf wings on either side. It was _his_ helmet. When he was human, he had worn this helmet as he charged into the aerie of Janos Audron, and along with his brothers in arms, his fellow Sarafan Inquisitors, murdered the Ancient and stole his heart. He had worn it when he died. A dent present on its left side, left there when the blue wraith knocked the helm from his head with the Reaver, marked the occasion of his death. Did Moebius leave this here to taunt him?

Raziel possessed not a shred of memories from his human life save what he had witnessed as a wraith. That seemed like a lifetime ago - yet the hatred he felt for the Sarafan Raziel burned as acutely as the day he faced that bastard in the Sarafan Stronghold. He forced himself to look away from the helm.

That _other_ Raziel was dead. Oblivion was too good for _him._

The red shield on the right bore the hourglass symbol of Moebius's crusader army, which had nearly succeeded in wiping out Nosgoth's vampires during Kain's youth. The shield on the left was yellow and battle worn, but Raziel did not recognize it.

Raziel sneered when he recognized the sword. It belonged to Vorador; the first vampire made from human flesh, Janos Audron's own child, the forger of the Soul Reaver, and Kain's mentor. He had aided Raziel on his quest to escape his inevitable imprisonment in the Soul Reaver. Raziel considered him a valuable ally, perhaps even a friend. Moebius must have taken it as a trophy after his army raided Vorador's manor in Termogent Forest.

The first display case contained a golden chalice stained with blood. It meant nothing to him.

The second display case contained something much more shocking. He leaned over it for a closer look, disbelieving. This was no mistake. It was a Razielim flag, partially burned; an indisputable anachronism, an object nearly two thousand years out of place. Shaken, Raziel returned to the first display case and examined the chalice more closely. This time he recognized it as one of the chalices from Kain's dining table in the Sanctuary of the Clans. Paired with the Sarafan helm, it presented him with a grim reminder of his past mistakes. Swallowing his own bile, Raziel backed away and turned his back on Moebius's macabre collection. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and tried to organize his thoughts as best he could.

Moebius must have intended for him to come here. These objects were clearly meant to enforce what Moebius had taken such pleasure in telling him time and time again; that his freewill was pointless, as much an illusion as Kain's belief that he could change fate. Except that - Raziel reminded himself again - history _had_ been altered. Moebius's pathetic attempt to demoralize him fell on deaf ears. Raziel released a hard sigh, slowly relaxing. He needed to search Moebius's books.

A large portion of the library was dedicated to Nosgoth's history: _The Founding of Williendorf_, _Holy Warriors: Histories of the Sarafan Crusades_, _Vorador: The Devil of Termogent_, _Chronicles of the Circle of Nine_... It went on and on.

Raziel recognized one of the books. _The Eulogy of William the Just_. That was the first book he ever read, an epic poem on the life and death of William the Just, the beloved prince slain by the fledgling Kain with the Soul Reaver. But there was a twist. In their climatic battle, William also wielded the Soul Reaver, an older version of it. The paradox created when the two swords met shattered William's Soul Reaver and allowed Kain to change history.

According to Kain, the entire event had been orchestrated by Moebius. In the original timeline Kain had grown up under the tyranny of William the Nemesis. When the portable time traveling device Kain stole from Azimuth the Planer activated of its own accord, sending him fifty years back in time to William's youth, before the young prince lost his mind, an unenlightened Kain took the opportunity to slay him in a misguided - and cunningly prearranged - attempt to alter the future. It had the opposite effect. Moebius built the young William up as a martyr and used Kain as a symbol of the vampire plague. He raised an army and began a crusade, in honor of William and the Sarafan Crusades before it, to wipe out Nosgoth's vampires. He almost succeeded, leaving Kain the last vampire in Nosgoth for a time. Only Kain remembered the original timeline.

Did Kain ever wonder what became of William's Soul Reaver? Surely Kain must have noticed that the prince's Soul Reaver was in tact when he confronted him with it in William's chapel, during the era of his human birth. Perhaps he allowed his arrogance to blind him to the obvious connection. Raziel returned to scanning Moebius's collection.

Curiously, there were even books written centuries after Moebius's death: _Meridian: The New Capital_, _The War of the Vampire Lord_, and _Mysteries of the Glyphwrights, _to name a few. One book, called _Divine Inheritance: The Neo-Sarafan Order_, sparked his curiosity, but he restrained himself. The appearance of the Neo-Sarafan was one of the consequences of the paradox that occurred when Kain saved him from the Reaver in the Sarafan Stronghold. Vorador's resurrection was another. No doubt his name would be mentioned in _The War of the Vampire Lord. _

The Soul Reaver. Raziel's own soul. After all this time he still did not know why the sword was deigned as it was, to imprison him. He and the Soul Reaver were connected on a deep level, closer than brothers. Together they had the power to change history. He only needed the means to reach it. He continued his search.

Other titles left him utterly baffled. One such book was a journal or sketchbook filled with strange designs for flying machines and other alien technologies, including an enormous engine which looked eerily similar to the ones used in Kain's smokestacks. These were clearly not written by Moebius. He hazarded a guess that the script he was looking at was Hylden, since it did not look similar to the writings he found in the Ancients' ruins.

There were no texts from the Ancient vampires here. There were not even any books about them, save the erroneous title _Concerning the Fiend Janos Audron: His History and Demise_. Raziel sneered in disgust.

Finally he found what he was searching for: a leviathan volume entitled _Ships on the Currents of History: A Compendium of Time Streaming Devices_, written by Moebius himself. Raziel stood on a stool to get it. Although some objects could clearly be removed from their place in time, he did not wish to risk disrupting the continuity of this particular book. He did not know how Kain learned to operate Moebius's Chronoplast centuries after the Time Guardian's death, but he suspected this had something to do with it.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered if the artifacts behind him were actually intended for the eyes of a younger Kain. The Sarafan Helm taunting Kain with Moebius's advanced knowledge on the blasphemous origins of his sons; the burned Razielim flag symbolizing the destruction of Raziel's clan; the blood stained chalice a metaphor for betrayal; the shields and sword reminders of Kain's past mistakes meddling in history, the near extinction of vampires and Vorador's untimely death. Moebuis had a lovely way of tying up loose ends.

Raziel opened the book on the table and began taking notes. As he suspected earlier, the three varieties of time travel devices he had encountered served different functions. The large Chronoplast in Moebius's complex was ideal for trips into deep time, spanning longer than one thousand years. The more modest time travel chambers he encountered in Moebius's wing in the Sarafan Stronghold were designed to propel their passengers through the centuries. Their maximum reach spanned nine-hundred years forward and backward.

The smallest time travel devices, like the handheld device which hurled the fledgling Kain into an encounter with the young William, were called chronospheres. They were ideal for traveling across spans of time from one century to less than an hour. The chronospheres were magnitudes more accurate than the larger Chronoplasts at the cost of limited range.

Moebius's book mentioned a fourth type of time travel device: an Anatopism. Supposedly, this device conveyed the user _outside_ of time entirely, but there was little information about it. It appeared to be entirely speculative.

More importantly, the book also contained detailed knowledge on the movements of the heavens, the construction of time travel devices, simplified equations for traveling to unknown periods in time, observations on the laws of fate, and the causes and effects of various types of paradoxes. This was exactly what Raziel had hoped to find.

Raziel did not know whether to credit his acumen for time streaming to Moebius's hourglass or his miraculous rebirth at the Pillars. Whatever the cause, he found himself picking up complex new ideas with relative ease. This was fortunate, because this type of technical reading had never come naturally to him and even though he found the information stimulating, his mind soon took on the qualities of a dry sponge. There was far too much to take in all at one time. Even if he stayed here for weeks he would run out of parchment and ink if he tried to take down everything. Besides, he was eager to move from theory into practice.

Before long he had located a chronosphere in what appeared to be Moebius's workshop. These tiny devices appeared to be quite plentiful, perhaps because they had a nasty habit of breaking. At least a dozen were arranged in neat boxes on Moebius's shelf. The empty slots indicated that some of the chronospheres had been taken out for use prior to Moebius's death. By the time of the Pillars' restoration this chamber had collapsed, destroying the chronospheres with it. He hoped to use his hard won knowledge to repair the chronosphere he had broken in Nosgoth's present.

Using Moebius's book as a guide, Raziel disassembled the device through telekensis. The parts were quite delicate and layered with incredible complexity. That so many cogs and gears could fit inside an instrument the size of a planisphere seemed to defy the natural laws. After reassembling the chronosphere a few times, he realized that repairing the broken chronosphere would be impossible. There were too many pieces, many so intricate he could not hope to recreate them on his own. His best recourse was to bring a functioning chronosphere back to the present.

A functioning chronosphere carried significantly more weight in the time stream than a wooden sign or a bundle of daffodils. He did not know what effect removing one of these objects from history would have. There were two options:

The safest course would be to move the chronosphere to a different location within Moebius's complex where he could locate it in the present. If this particular chronosphere had some part to play in Nosgoth's history between now and the restoration of the Pillars, fate would divert its course to ensure that the device was found and used for its destined purpose. That was the illusion of freewill. If not, he should find it where he left it. Or, by using the divining cauldron in Moebius's subterranean chamber, he could attempt to learn the repercussions of his actions before he came to a decision.

The alternative was to take the chronosphere through the Chronoplast and see what happened.

There were so many chronospheres. Surely they did not all have some important destiny. If Kain came to possess them in the future he doubted he would miss just one.

Still, the possible repercussions were daunting.

Ah, but fortune favors the bold.

* * *

_Present Day_

* * *

White light bathed off of him as he stepped out of the Chronoplast portal. By now the ritual of looking down the stairs for Kain's bloodstains had become profoundly ingrained in his process. It was a way point that let him know immediately he was in the right time. The portal closed behind him as he proceeded down the stairs.

He had set himself up in a small room near the Chronoplast chamber. He constructed a makeshift table out of stones and debris and a bed made from old Dumahim flags from the abandoned city. The star charts were stacked in slots in the wall, protected by their bronze casings, along with notes, ink, and extra parchment from the captain, the latter running low.

Leaned against the wall, a small collection of weapons: a spear from the Dumahim city, a Zephonim short sword, the quarterstaff stolen from Kain's armory, and others. He gave most of the weapons he recovered to Hasek to build up a good reputation with the vampire hunters, but some he kept for himself. In exchange the captain provided him with a few pieces of armor, some simple clothing, an Oculite religious text, two balls of twine, several squares of soft cloth for wrapping swords, and a tough leather satchel, which sat at the foot of his makeshift table.

Spreading his notes on the table, Raziel sat cross-legged on the floor and used them to set the chronosphere to the time period he desired. Unlike the Chronoplasts, which relied on the movements of the stars, the chronosphere relied almost entirely on the orientations of the sun, moon, and planets. This made setting the device relatively simple, thanks to his pilfered astrolabe.

He had taken a risk in stealing it. Of all the objects he had stolen out of history this one might have been one of the most dangerous. The gypsies used astrolabes to tell the future through horoscopes. It was merely a crude trick, but from peasants to kings many people took their readings seriously and even a false prophet may unknowingly turn the Wheel of Fate. However, as he could find no intact astrolabes in the present, and regarded stealing from Moebius's collection as a last resort, he took his chances.

The chronosphere was set. Now all that was required was to activate it in the proper place. Holding the chronosphere in his cloven hands, a heavy foreboding settled over Raziel. He was about to embark on a perilous journey.

Some parts of this journey were clear to him. Through dreams and divination, he already knew the end result of his next trip through time. He also knew that he would visit an old friend in the past about a favor. What happened after that was entirely up to chance. The flip of a coin. Except this time, he would only get one toss. At the end Nosgoth would be restored or wiped from time and space entirely.

He remembered Nogah's message. In the Vampire Citadel, when he used the Spirit Reaver on Kain, it's energy should have purified him of Nupraptor's insanity, yet nothing appeared to have changed apart from the wound in his chest. Kain should be uncorrupted. Was that even possible after two thousand years?

The Wheel of Fate was wobbling. Choice was in play. Kain could decide to give the Soul Reaver to him willingly. They could work together.

Kain said something to him moments before the Reaver absorbed his soul. Though he could not remember the exact words, he felt convinced of their intent. At the last minute, after Raziel had explained the whole significance of his destiny, Kain had still tried to stop him from sacrificing himself. Kain, who ordered Raziel's execution to set prophecy in motion, had also tried to save him from his ultimate fate.

"Maybe..." Raziel glanced at the daffodils. In centuries and seasons past, the mountains surrounding the Oracle's Cave bloomed with these golden flowers. He wanted to see all of Nosgoth like that again. Maybe Kain did, too. Maybe he wanted Raziel to see it with him.

He shook his head. It seemed cruel to choose him for this over all of his brothers. Even if fate would not allow them to live to see Nosgoth's restoration, he did not think himself more deserving than they, not anymore. The Raziel that pledged his life and loyalty to Kain was nearly as dead to him as the Raziel that murdered Janos Audron.

Still, if Kain wanted to work with him, that was an offer he could not afford to refuse.

Raziel filled the satchel with cloth and twine. Slinging it over his shoulder, he used Moebius's ring to teleport to the forward chamber of the Oracle's Cave. Outside the cave, surrounded in night, he took the chronosphere in his claws and spread his wings.

Weeks of practice had served him well. He could leap more than ten feet in the air from a standstill; it was only a matter of training his wings to lift him up. Legs coiled, he leapt into the air. His wings carried him with no regards for the laws of gravity. The motions of flight, once requiring his deep concentration, were now ingrained into his memory, as fluid and natural as walking on a cloud. This was where he belonged.

The mountains retreated, giving way to the Lake of the Dead. Even from this great height and distance Raziel could see the vortex swirling below. Taller than the highest mountains, the Pillars of Nosgoth towered over the landscape, rising into the smoke clouds and beyond. That was his destination. Raziel activated the chronosphere.

White light spilled from the device in his hand, enveloping him like the flames of a star. When the light faded the night had melted away. It was near dawn. The Pillars were gone.

* * *

_Three Months Ago  
_

* * *

The blue figure stood outside the Sanctuary of the Clans, right side bathed in the azure, swirling light of a phantom sword. Two long strips of flesh hung from the back of his ribcage near his shoulder blades. He wore a faded crimson cowl. The symbols on the front were intimately familiar to Raziel, yet it was the sight of that sword that made him tense like a cat eager to pounce.

Sometimes he missed the old blue corpse. Although he could never forgive Kain for what he had done to him, he found himself looking back on his time as a wraith with less hatred than he imagined.

That ghoulish body knew no limits, particularly in the Spectral Realm. If it had been capable of flight he could have soared above the clouds of Nosgoth without experiencing fatigue. When he tried that in this body his strength evaporated before he reached the clouds.

The blue wraith glared pointedly at the sky, as if bearing a skeptical ear to an enigmatic voice from above. _"You're an omniscient being. Answer my question and I will do as you command."_

Raziel remembered that question. He wanted his Benefactor to tell him what became of his clan. Suddenly the blue wraith bristled and its white eyes flared up. With an air of pompous defiance, the blue wraith began the long trek northward. Raziel knew what he would find. As he watched the wraith shrink into the distance from the sanctuary tower, he shook his head.

This was not the first time he observed a past version of himself. Over twenty-five centuries ago, as a wraith, he had watched his human self murder Janos Audron. Hindsight always tasted bitter. He could never stand to be sentimental.

Kain's blood left dark spots on the Sanctuary floor. The domed ceiling was still in tact, as was Kain's horned throne, built around the base of the corrupted Pillar of Balance. Raziel had arrived not an hour after their historic encounter when the Soul Reaver shattered and released its spirit to become the wraith blade. Standing in this silent chamber before the bleak, ruined husks of the Pillars, Raziel's heart swelled with anguish. He quickly set to work.

He found the hilt first, lying on the ground near the steps of the platform like discarded trash. How foolish of Kain to leave it here in the open. Did he believe the sword was no longer of any use? Or did he not realize that something still remained?

The handle was straight and long, wrapped in fine white cloth stained yellow with age and blood, and tipped with a cone pommel that angled downward. The cross guard consisted of four black, claw-like protrusions sprouting from the white skull of a vampire. A real vampire skull would have been far too fragile to survive the forging process, so the artist used white jade. When it was whole the blade had snaked from the vampire's mouth like a serpent's tongue. Now only a jagged fragment remained. Raziel gazed into the white face of the Soul Reaver. Without his twin soul, the eyes were black and lifeless. Gazing at the sword was like gazing down a hall of mirrors.

Within twenty minutes he recovered the other three pieces of the sword, wrapped them in cloth with twine, and stored them inside his bag. Did Kain know that the Soul Reaver could be repaired once shattered? Did he know that it was his mentor, Vorador, who first forged the blade and knew its secrets? Raziel knew. Knowledge, he found, could be the most powerful weapon of all.

"What are you doing, Time Streamer?"

Unsurprised, Raziel turned to greet the familiar specter. "Do you not recognize me, Ariel? We have met so many times."

The ghost of the previous Balance Guardian floated anxiously above him, her arms held stiffly at her sides, the one eye she still possessed wide with indignation at his trespassing while the other empty socket blackened with a void of fear. Her yellow hair drifted lazily about her half-skull face as if caught in a current underwater. When he last saw her in the Spirit Forge of the Vampire Citadel she had been whole; her face rosy and unblemished, her hair a sea of waving gold, and even her dress, pure white. Like him, her spirit would be used to cleanse the corruption from the Soul Reaver; but unlike him, it was to be her final resting place. He tried to smile reassuringly without looking too mischievous. "Think my dear, surely you can put the pieces together. I know that you saw me before my execution even though I never saw you."

"You have a lying tongue."

Raziel stepped onto the platform where Kain built his petty throne. "I am a subtle, cruel, deceitful creature. I have hounded you for centuries, tormenting you with ignorant questions and truths too fathomless to bear. I am Redeemer and Destroyer, Pawn and Messiah, friend and Unspoken. You once said we shared a common foe." At this Ariel retreated from him, disturbed. His voice softened. "You are right Ariel, but our true adversary is not as obvious as it seems."

"What _are_ you?"

"I have already told you. Do not fear, Ariel. Give the wraith Raziel your guidance and all the kindness you can muster for he will need every ounce of it. He has a hard journey ahead of him. One day he will set you free and with you, all of Nosgoth."

He almost swore he saw a tear in her eye. Gently, he extended his clawed hand to her, palm open. As she reluctantly took his hand her fingertips melted into him, cold and impossibly soft like winter air.

He remembered how happy she looked before her spirit entered the wraith blade. She had not dreaded to merge with the blade. He hoped that her presence comforted the tormented spirit still trapped in Kain's Soul Reaver.

"Speak not of what you have seen. We will meet again soon," he said, smiling tenderly as he let go of her hand. It was like letting go of a memory. There was nothing there to grasp, but the absence chilled him nonetheless. Ariel searched him, her shattered face tormented by a flurry of contradictory emotions.

She put her hands to her stomach, clutching them as she lingered in paradox. She did not seem to know whether to believe him. He wished that he could force her to see the truth for just a moment. Ever since he left her in pursuit of Dumah and Kain these reunions were fraught with discomfort and awkwardness, but for once it was Ariel who seemed to long for his guidance and support. He could not give it to her. This, at last, was their final goodbye.

Taking his prize, he touched Moebius's signet ring. "Go in peace."

* * *

**AN:** So about Ariel...

Ariel appears in Blood Omen, Soul Reaver, Soul Reaver 2, and Defiance. In each game where she appears (and Raziel also appears) she offers him some kind of advice or direction. At the end of Defiance, in the Blood Omen era, Ariel is absorbed into the wraith blade to create the Spirit Reaver. Understandably, this creates a paradox because it means that Ariel should not logically be present in Soul Reaver or Soul Reaver 2, when she appears in eras that take place _after_ Blood Omen/the altered Defiance timeline. If this was the case then Raziel would not have been able to receive her help in these time periods, which could potentially hinder him in his quest to alter destiny. The games never address this continuity error.

Do I have an explanation? NOPE. :D

Not good enough? Okay, uh... the spirit forge used Ariel's spirit from the future to create the Spirit Reaver. :/ Best I can do.


	9. Sons and Fathers

Chrysanta and her wet nurse finally arrived at the Sanctuary of the Clans. The young Nature Guardian looked to be in failing health, although Kain held out some small hope that the care and attention of this woman would be enough to pull her through. He was not accustomed to dealing with such young things. When he was human he had a few younger siblings. That was well over two thousand years ago and he had very little to do with them, as did his mother and father, who left child-rearing to their servants until the fruit of their loins reached the age of reason.

Like most slaves, the young woman had no name. Her Turelim handlers, whom he dismissed before taking her into the Sanctuary, referred to her by the numbers tattooed on the backs of her hands. He started calling her Buttercup. It happened by accident as he tried to coax her into his bedchamber, which was cleaner and warmer than the slave pens below - and he had been so busy as of late that he had no use for it. The soft nickname fit, so he decided to keep it. In fact he repeated it consciously to her over and over again as he explained why she had been brought here, as if to drive it into her tiny mind.

She tip-toed around him like a mouse in an open field. When he showed her the room where she and Chrysanta would be staying she hesitated to go inside until he took her gently by the arm and sat her on the edge of the bed. She was petrified of him.

Unlike the slaves that worked in the mines and engine rooms, Buttercup's hair was allowed to grow all the way down to her hips. It was fair to match her pale skin and tangled. Kain made a note to have one of his house servants cut some of it off. She looked between twenty four and twenty six with the wide blue eyes of a child. Her ample breasts would provide the Nature Guardian with plenty of nourishment, provided Buttercup remained in good health.

Explaining the child's importance to Buttercup tried his patience to its limit. He repeated over and over that this child was vital to Nosgoth's future. Buttercup seemed to not want to understand, as if she would be punished merely for thinking. Eventually he was forced to give up on the matter. Hopefully his words would sink in once he left them alone. He did manage to coax her to give up some of her knowledge on child rearing so that he could help her with Chrysanta. Since she seemed so terrified of him, he assigned one of his house slaves to attend to Buttercup and the child and left them in peace.

Originally he intended to send the two of them to Erste Stadt to be with the other Guardians once Chrysanta was healthy. Now that they were at the Sanctuary, he dismissed his old plans. He felt incredibly protective of the sickly Nature Guardian, so much so that if Buttercup was not so frightened of him he would have attended to her personally, for even his best house slave seemed incapable of adequately serving their needs in his eyes. This Guardian in particular seemed to be his responsibility.

With his house slave helping Buttercup and Chrysanta settle, for the first time in days Kain found himself with nothing to do. The smokestacks had all been shut down. As he expected, the positive effects of this were slow to manifest. Standing at the foot of the Balance Pillar in what was once his throne room, Kain saw no sign of the clouds parting.

Raziel was right, he realized. These yellow clouds were choking the life from Nosgoth. With or without the Pillars, it would make no difference until the sky cleared once more.

Keeping the smokestacks inert would be difficult. He needed to threaten - and sometimes carry out - execution for any Turelim who refused to shut down their smokestack. Even then he could see the resistance in their eyes. To keep order, he sent several of his strongest and most loyal Turelim to keep an eye on the smokestacks, but he feared this would not be enough to prevent them from being activated again. That was why he also instructed his soldiers to sabotage the engines the moment an opportunity presented itself. If they did rebel (and they certainly would) this would at least buy him some time.

The Kainanites were also encountering setbacks. Their search for the Mind, States, and Energy Guardians was blunted by an unexpected increase in guard patrols. They were no closer to finding the new Guardians than they were when he visited them a few weeks ago upon their discovery of the Planer. As for the Death Guardian, he had not had time to locate it yet.

The arrival of Chrysanta prevented him from going to Zephon's territory. He felt compelled to stay close to her in case something happened, even if he could do nothing to save her. Simply being close to her made him feel as though he was contributing something to her health. Lowering his eyes, depressed by dark clouds, he turned and headed into the Sanctuary until he arrived at the banquet hall. There he seated himself at the head of the table.

What was that old saying? If you love something let it go. If it comes back it's your's; if it doesn't, it never was. Raziel was and would always be his, for he had claimed him from the moment of his first rebirth. Kain chose him.

He turned the Soul Reaver pensively. He could sense him out there somewhere, too far to pinpoint exactly, constantly on the move. If he dallied for much longer Kain would find him and drag him back to the Sanctuary by his pony tail. That was not the outcome Kain wanted. He hoped Raziel would come to him. That was whole point of this exercise: he had offered Raziel the olive branch and now it was a waiting game.

Kain gazed down the length of the empty banquet hall. To his right was Raziel's seat, empty now for some five hundred years, and on his left, Turel. On down the table, from left to right, the seats of the clans stood vacant and dusty: Dumah, Rahab, Zephon, and Melchiah.

Melchiah had been second to vacate his seat at the table. Zephon followed. Rahab's absence was more willful than the others; once his evolution robbed him of his legs, he was unable to leave his territory in the Drowned Abby and Kain found it difficult to visit him, though he did from time to time. Turel and Dumah disappeared at around the same time, shortly after Rahab, for their evolutions had increased their stature so much that they could no longer fit in their seats. They were also drawn away from the Sanctuary by their own petty wars. Dumah was killed by vampire slayers two-hundred years ago, only to be revived so that Raziel could consume his soul. As for Turel, no one seemed to know what happened to him, not even Kain. A heavy sigh filled the abandoned hall.

Situated proudly at the other end of the table stood a chair that was never filled, reserved for his ancient mentor, Vorador. He still carried Vorador's signet ring, which he had given him after their first meeting in Termogent. Before Vorador disenchanted it, this ring allowed him to summon his mentor to his side if he ever required his assistance. Now useless, he had worn it as an earring since before the dawn of the empire. Admittedly, his reasons were quite sentimental.

It happened sometime before he raided the Sarafan tombs to create his lieutenants. A century had passed since Vorador handed leadership of the Cabal over to Kain. During this time Vorador remained on as his reclusive adviser, rarely making appearances to anyone, save Kain himself. One night Vorador called him into his chamber for a talk. Once they were alone he asked for the signet ring he had given him centuries ago. Kain handed it over without question.

A bolt of electricity passed through the ring from Vorador's hands. He inspected the ring, intact but inert, and held it out for him to take back. Kain stared uncomprehendingly at the ring. When he finally accepted the ring his senses reeled. "What is this?"

Vorador was, as always, succinct and unapologetic. He stood with his arms crossed behind his back, his green, cat-like ears erect like the horns of a great crown. "The time has come for us to go our separate ways. I'm leaving the Cabal."

It was as if Vorador ripped out Kain's own heart and handed it back to him. His blood boiled. "What!? Why?"

"My purpose is complete. The Neo Sarafan are destroyed, vampires are once again on the rise, and you have learned all that I have to teach. You no longer need me."

"That's not true. I'm founding an empire." Kain felt like he was begging. He did not like being forced to beg. It was humiliating.

Vorador was unmoved. "With the Cabal behind you, you have all the support you need. I have no interest in founding an empire. And nothing else to offer."

He bared his fangs. His hand twitched, tempted to reach for the Soul Reaver on his shoulder, and made a fist instead. "You dare to defy me?"

"It is not defiance, Kain," his old mentor replied smoothly, without anger. "You and I no longer have anything in common. I do this for the both of us, for you and I. Better to part as old allies than bitter enemies."

"If you are not with me you are against me." It was a thoughtless thing to say. He would regret it later.

Vorador's ears pricked. Nothing ever seemed to surprise him, but Kain's words had plainly wounded him. He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. "Do you truly feel that way?"

Kain said nothing. He could not find his voice. When he thought of the day he brought Vorador back from the grave, he cursed himself. He should have stayed dead. Vorador answered his cold silence with a sigh. "You sadden me. I had high hopes for you, though you've disappointed me time and time again. Perhaps you are not who I thought you were."

"Spare me," Kain growled. "I have no interest in your foolish prophecies, old one, nor am I your Scion of Balance. Leave, before I execute you a second time."

Vorador was as serene as ever, but Kain recognized the shame in his eyes. His old mentor's heart was heavy with regret and seemed to grow heavier as the centuries passed. It hurt him to know that he now held a place among Vorador's sorrows. He had been too proud to show it. "Very well. Goodbye, Kain."

Kain averted his eyes from Vorador's empty seat. For centuries he had kept a place at his table for his old friend, yet when he traveled back in history to a time when Vorador still lived in Termogent he had not the heart to see him again, even though such a reunion beset his heart with pangs of longing. Now that he had reclaimed the destiny he rejected all those centuries ago, he wondered if Vorador would be proud of him.

A familiar presence drew him out of his thoughts at length. Sheathing the Soul Reaver, he walked toward the throne room and stood beside the Pillar of Death. The sun had now set. One of his house servants had already lit the torches around the rim of the Sanctuary, casting long, dancing shadows across the Pillar's base. Nosgoth's night was blacker than the underside of hell, yet the Pillars glowed with an otherworldly white light, faint but striking in the absolute darkness. Even during the day these magnificent edifices cast no shadows.

As he watched the sky, a small, vaguely human shape flew against the clouds, the faint light of the Pillars reflected off its pale skin. It circled the Sanctuary gracefully and banked through the Pillars like a kite. Kain crossed his arms and smirked. "Show-off."

It was not jealousy that compelled Kain to hurl Raziel into the abyss all those centuries ago. His ego was not that fragile. He was merely doing as fate commanded him to, setting in motion the events that would lead to the Pillar's restoration. Truth be told, he could not be more proud.

Raziel descended slowly. As he neared the ground his wings dropped back and he landed in a crouch before the Pillars. He had obviously fed since the last time they met; his features bloomed with youth and vitality. As he stood he spread his wings to their full length, causing him to appear much larger than he was, like a king. Although his lips were firmly set his eyes were alive with the forces of nature one only experiences beyond the bounds of gravity. Now Kain knew for certain that Raziel lied at the Oracle's Cave, for these were the eyes of a man passionately in love with living. Raziel had no idea how much it pleased him to see him like this again.

Suddenly Kain noticed the banner flying from his quarterstaff and his smile faded slightly. That was a Razielim flag. He did not need to wonder where Raziel found it, as there were several still hanging inside the Sanctuary. The sight of it reminded him of the vengeful ghoul Raziel had once been.

"You're looking well," Kain said to break the silence.

"No thanks to you." Raziel glared.

He frowned severely and turned his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Though he feigned stoicism, Raziel's curt reply combined with the sight of the tattered Razielim flag reminded him that Raziel would never forget what had been done to him.

The tips of Raziel's wings twitched anxiously. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Kain did not move from his spot. For a thousand years Raziel had been his most trusted lieutenant, his favored son and comrade. There was nothing Raziel could hide from him, not even his fear.

Finally, Raziel advanced on him. Standing on the Pillars' platform added a foot to his height and let him tower over Kain, who reacted to Raziel's enhanced statue with true indifference. If this helped him then so be it. Stopping at the edge of the platform, Raziel glared down at him. "We are going to talk. And you are going to listen."

Kain gestured invitingly. "Fire away, Raziel. I'm all ears."

This seemed to take Raziel by surprise. He inhaled sharply and his wings twitched like the wings of a flighty bird. While he waited for Raziel to speak he noticed a handheld battle axe strapped to his left thigh bearing Dumahim markings. Upon closer inspection, Raziel's clothes showed clear signs of combat. His leather britches were torn and scuffed and the armored portions of his gauntlets bore the marks of claws. Although he had clearly tried to wash off the smell of vampire blood, once Kain suspected it there was no hiding the stench. This cast what Raziel said next in a slightly darker light.

"I've used the time streaming devices in Moebius's cave. Nosgoth is in grave danger. Everything we've sacrificed for, all our suffering will come to nothing unless we act now. The Soul Reaver cannot remain in your hands. You must give it to me so that I can return it to Avernus Cathedral as soon as possible."

Kain raised his eyebrows and leaned back unconsciously. Everything he had done over the past two weeks he had done to win back Raziel's trust. This was asking too much. He tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm sorry, I cannot do that. Fear of this weapon is the last thread holding the clans together. Without the Soul Reaver they will turn on us - and all of Nosgoth."

"I know," he replied expectantly. "They're weak."

"You say that. Tell me, how many waves of Dumahim and Turelim could you have slaughtered without my Soul Reaver?" In light of Raziel's hesitation, he smugly replied, "I thought so."

Raziel held out his hand. "Then give me the Soul Reaver."

Kain laughed despite himself and casually brushed Raziel's hand away. "Are you joking? You should have done a better job cleaning the blood from your hands."

Composing himself with great effort, Raziel spoke through his teeth. "I give you my word. No harm will come to you."

"I don't believe you. I know better than any how easily your anger is manipulated. My life not withstanding, the Soul Reaver is certainly not safe with you."

True to form, Raziel tensed as if to pounce on him. He barely managed to drag himself away from the ledge. Though Kain felt relieved to see him exercise self-control, this small gesture was not enough to convince him he could be trusted after he switched sides so many times. When Raziel seemed reasonably reasonable, Kain continued sagely: "The Soul Reaver will return to Avernus in time. Our very presence here is proof of that. History would not have allowed me to return to this time period if I was not also destined to return the Reaver to its rightful place in the time stream."

Vexation shook Raziel's voice, "History has changed, Kain. We didn't realize what we were doing. The Vampire's Oracle - the Hub of the Wheel of Fate - _It_ was protecting the time stream. Now that It is dead the Wheel is wobbling - we are all unfettered - including you! You can now be rendered incapable of returning the Reaver.

"Imagine the repercussions. The young Kain never finds the Soul Reaver in Avernus. He then travels back in time, intending to assassinate William the Just before he grows into the infamous Nemesis, unaware that Moebius has armed William with the Soul Reaver. Young Kain dies at William's hands, balance is never restored, and the resulting paradox obliterates all of Nosgoth in a cosmic instant. The longer we keep the Soul Reaver in this time the closer we stand to oblivion. Everything hinges on my returning it to Avernus before it's too late."

Kain searched his expression disbelievingly. Raziel had always been poor at lies. It was a weakness they shared. Kain tensed his arms. "You're sure?"

Raziel locked eyes with him. "More sure than I've ever been in my life. If you only listen to me once, Kain, do it now. We have everything to lose."

He lowered his eyes and fell silent for a space. When he returned Raziel's gaze his expression hardened. "Then we must be careful."

Nearly collapsing with relief, Raziel nodded. His reprieve would be short-lived. "Yes. Precisely."

"But we still need the Soul Reaver in this time period. The clans don't care about us or the Pillars - _least_ of all the Pillars; their only concern is self-preservation."

Raziel visibly tensed. He controlled his words well for one so easily stirred. "As I said before, they need to be destroyed. If we must use the Soul Reaver to do that then I ask you again, please, give it to me. I have guarded it as faithfully as you, if not more so."

"Why should you be more capable of protecting it than I? If we all have free will then the Soul Reaver is at risk no matter which of us holds it."

"Not exactly. Fate still exists but in a diminished form. There are many paths open to each of us but they are still roads with barriers. Once we start down one path, the others close behind us and can never be visited again."

"But you can't see to the end of the road," Kain stated, interrupting. Raziel did not look pleased with his observation. "After you disappeared into the Spectral Realm, I spoke with Moebius in the Sarafan Stronghold. He told me that no matter what choices you made the outcome would remain in his favor. We both know how that ended. If Moebius could not see that far into his future when only one creature possessed freewill than I doubt you can when we all do. You cannot lie to me, Raziel. I know you better than you know yourself."

Raziel was not deterred. "And I know you. If I left it up to you, you would never return the Soul Reaver. You would hold onto it until it was too late."

Kain chuckled adroitly. They might have had this conversation a thousand times in as many years. It was like rehearsing a play. "And you wouldn't? You know the Soul Reaver still contains your twin soul and you long to re-connect with it."

He hesitated tellingly. Realizing that he had given himself away, he confessed without bite, "You are right. But self-interest is not my sole motivation. Can you say the same?"

Kain stepped closer, stopping at the edge of the platform. This time Raziel did not tense or back away. A conversant easiness had slipped into their debate unnoticed, temporarily mollifying their confrontation. They had met on these terms many times before, with one exception. Without a platform to stand on Raziel would have been shorter than him, but Kain did not mind having to tilt his head. He put himself in this position for a reason.

"Would I have led you through time itself if I did not care for Nosgoth's future? Our goals are not so different. Remember your words in the Vampire Citadel." He smiled earnestly. This was not merely an attempt to sway him to his advantage. "I would like to go back to the way things were, if we can learn to trust each other again."

For a short time Raziel's eyes softened. His wayward son looked away, his eyes scanning the walls of the Sanctuary, the empty spaces where the flags of the clans once hung, and slowly shook his head. "No. Only by believing I was going to oblivion was I able to make peace with all you have done. As long as we both live, I can never forgive you."

Startled by depth of his sincerity, Kain froze. He did not expect to be rebuked so gently. His reply came softly, almost like an apology. "I cannot change the past."

"I know," he said, voice tinged with regret. "Thank you... for trying to stop me at the end."

Kain walked a few paces along the base of the Pillars with his back turned, finding this conversation too tender to bear in close proximity. Raziel remained standing where he was, following him with his eyes. Kain stopped, sighed, and turned to him as if beginning anew. "What do you propose?"

Raziel faced him. These rare moments of affection never lasted long between them. They each returned to the matter at hand with familiar eagerness, as if the former had never occurred. It was an old ritual. "We must destroy the clans."

Kain nodded belligerently. "I agree that the clans must be destroyed, but now is not the time. We cannot risk starting a conflict of that magnitude while Nosgoth is on her knees."

"I have a plan."

Kain waited. "And your plan is...?"

"You taught me better than that. I can continue with my plan with or without you, but I would rather have you on my side. It's easier that way."

Kain narrowed his eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Raziel smiled self-assuredly. "So are you, Kain. We're equals now."

"As long as I hold the Soul Reaver, no vampire is my equal. Like it or not, for the time being the clans are our only allies. We cannot restore Nosgoth without them." He neglected to mention the Kainanites. There was no reason Raziel needed to know about them.

"So you can keep the humans under your boot? Has it occurred to you that tyranny is not our only option?"

"Tyranny is all they understand."

"We can do better."

Kain threw his arms in the air. "Why bother? You've seen how easily men's hearts are corrupted. They are dangerous, ignorant cattle. The less freedom they have, the better for Nosgoth."

Raziel groaned. "Oh, that is so typical of you! Even when you have the opportunity to make the right choice you still choose evil."

"And what would you know about making the right choice? Don't forget that it was your choice that allowed Janos Audron to fall into Hylden hands. Your careless actions caused Nosgoth to lose its last connection to the Ancients."

"My actions restored the Pillars!" Raziel barked, seething with a sudden upwelling of rage. "You have broken everything you were ever responsible for: The Pillars, Nosgoth, the clans, even your damn wife-" Kain's telekenetic choke hold squeezed the air from his throat before he could finish that thought. As he lifted him off the ground Raziel dropped his quarterstaff and flailed wildly, clawing uselessly at supernatural bindings.

"Don't - go - _there_." Cold fury blazed in Kain's eyes. With a flick of his wrist he hurled Raziel across the throne room. At the last second he righted himself, sparing his wings and digging his claws into the floor as he skidded.

Raziel laughed mockingly and called the quarterstaff back to his hand. "Oh my god! Did I touch a nerve?"

Kain stepped onto the platform, drawing the Soul Reaver to teach him a lesson in respect. "Impudent brat. You had no right!"

"I could have guessed! It takes a certain kind of man to kill his own son." As Kain charged him he leapt into the air and soared out of range of Kain's telekentic attack. While he hovered just beyond his reach, Kain shouted after him, "Hollow words, Raziel!"

"Revenge is justification enough!" he retorted callously. Kain could barely make out his grin cast in the dull light of the Pillars. "Petty jealousy, not so much. Hard to believe you were surprised to find her eyes turned to other men after you beat and neglected her. Blame fate if you will; by choice or by design, you are and always shall be... _yourself_, Kain. Until we meet again, farewell." Kain watched him fly away.

There was no point in following. In the air, Raziel possessed an overwhelming advantage. Whereas he could only travel in bat form Raziel could swipe at his flock in mid-air with his quarterstaff, knocking him out of the sky piece by piece. As Raziel's speck faded into the all consuming darkness of Nosgoth's night he reluctantly sheathed the Soul Reaver. He lingered in front of the Pillars.

He had never told any of his lieutenants about his human life. It was unimportant and he had been glad to put it behind him. However, the unpleasant memories Raziel dug up caused him little pain. Rather, it was the profane act of unearthing these unwilling specters from their graves that bothered him. Had Raziel lost all respect for him?

But even Raziel's brazen disrespect should not have angered him so much. Later that evening, Kain finally realized what it was Raziel said that caused him to charge with the Soul Reaver.

Raziel was right: he destroyed everything he touched. Perhaps that was why he felt such a powerful attachment to Chrysanta. Like Nosgoth he had destroyed her. He believed that he could save her, too. That was something he needed to prove to himself. Despite his triumph over the Vampire's Oracle, Kain realized that he was far from reclaiming his destiny as Scion of Balance. His trials had only just begin.

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**AN:** Heart of the Shadowlands updates next. Don't worry - Time Streamer is far from finished. As Kain would say, "Fate promises more twists before this drama unfolds completely." :)


	10. -UPDATED- Time Streaming

**AN: **This chapter was _heavily_ edited on 5/31/13.

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Raziel sped away from the Pillars with the wind pulling at his hair, flying northwest toward Razielim territory and Captain Hasek. There were a few things he needed to discuss with the captain before going forward with the rest of his plan. At his current speed it would take him more than three hours to reach the fortified library. That gave him some time to think.

The meeting with Kain had not gone as he had hoped. However, he was glad to have done it. Now that he knew Kain would refuse to cooperate with him he could continue with a clear conscious.

Through divining Raziel had learned of Kain's life as a human noble, including his harsh treatment and eventual murder of his human wife, revelations which made him cringe with disgust. No wonder Kain found himself the target of assassins as a man. He did not know everything about Kain's human life - but he knew enough to understand that becoming a vampire had only enhanced his maliciousness. Sometimes he did not know why he gave that bastard second chances he clearly did not deserve.

After hours of flight Raziel caught sight of the Lake of the Dead in the distance. Despite flying more than a mile above the ground, he could still hear the water rushing through the bottomless vortex. The natural stone platform where he had been cast into the lake, attached to the mainland by a rickety wooden bridge, still towered over the abyss like a grave marker. Although the lake had shrunk significantly since the founding of the empire, that abyssal whirlpool showed no signs of stopping.

Raziel was not the first vampire to be thrown into the abyss. Execution at the Lake of the Dead was a common fate for traitors and weaklings. Raziel had been Kain's right hand, First-Lieutenant Raziel. For a vampire of his rank to be cast into the abyss was a grave insult. The dishonor stung, but it paled before the anguish of Kain's betrayal and the physical agony of an acidic death. His lips curled in an involuntary sneer and he felt his heart harden against Kain as he skirted the edge of the lake. As he crossed into the mountains, leaving the vortex behind, he experienced a heavy cloud of mental exhaustion simply from having passed so near to that place. It was the quickest route from the Sanctuary to Razielim territory.

He climbed higher over the peaks, passing over the sheltered human city of Erste Stadt. The entire city was built into the mountains and surrounded by thick walls of stone and water filled canals. Beneath Nosgoth's pitch black sky the city glittered with orange torchlight. Although smaller than the grand capitol cities of Kain's empire, it was nonetheless an impressive feat of engineering for a people descended from slaves. Raziel did not feel ashamed of the alliance he had made with Captain Hasek. He only hoped they could stand up to the trials to come. Humans were easily broken.

Darkness reigned beyond the mountains. Vampires favored the night, but their cities were not devoid of lights. The blackness covering much of Raziel's clan territory was a funerary veil over a rotten corpse infested with Dumahim vermin. Raziel held his wings at his sides to let the wind fill them and carry him in a slow descent. He looked straight ahead, focused on his destination.

Again the darkness gave way to light, the torches and bonfires of the vampire hunters who had transformed the heart of Raziel's dead capitol into a base of operations for their military. The dark teal flags of Erste Stadt hung from the crumbling walls of Razielim buildings. The city's motto, _Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest_, encircled the city's seal, modeled after the Cathedral of Oculus Fati. No Razielim flags remained. When Raziel flew over his decrepit clan territory, the crimson banner he had tied to his quarterstaff was the only one still flying.

He landed on the roof of the fortified library an hour before dawn. By now Hasek's men were accustomed to his comings and goings. The archers stationed on the roof relaxed a fraction when they saw him coming in for a landing. They associated his presence with protection from the horrors that roamed the abandoned Razielim territory. If an attack was imminent, Raziel could sense it an hour or more in advance. That did not mean they were on friendly terms. They trusted him, unless he spoke to them directly. Then they feared him.

Fortunately for them, he did not need to inquire about the whereabouts of Captain Hasek. He already knew that he would not be on duty until sunrise. This was one of the problems in dealing with humans. They slept six to eight hours a day and almost always at night.

Sunlight hardly bothered Raziel. All vampires developed a natural resistance to it overtime. Even without the smoke clouds dampening the light, he only experienced some minor discomfort from being out during the day, mostly concerned with his eyes, maladapted to bright lights. The empire rarely conducted business during the daylight hours. Fledglings slept through the day, building their strength and avoiding the deadly light, while young and old vampires engaged in leisurely, mostly indoor activities or rested. They were lazy hours. It felt odd to conduct business beneath the light of the sun.

He descended the ladder into the library. Ordinarily when he arrived at night he spent the hours before dawn patrolling the territory, picking off vampires where he found them, and practicing flight. Having just ended a long flight, and with difficult work ahead of him, he went to his quarters to rest until Hasek awoke.

The quarters Hasek's men set up for him were modest to say the least. A cot from the barracks had been moved into a spare room for him along with a rickety desk and chair. At the height of Raziel's clan, this room had been a storage closet. It was hardly befitting the status he had set up for himself, but he did not expect a castle on such short notice. In fact it felt almost cozy. He planned on moving up to better accommodations once he solidified pact with Erste Stadt. He looked forward to no longer living like a fugitive.

A package was waiting for him on his desk along with a pair of sheathed swords. Leaning his quarterstaff against the wall, Raziel lifted one of the swords and inspected it with a smile. They were curved falcatas, one shorter than the other, just as he asked. His claws fit easily around the hook-like hilt. He ran his thumb claw along its shining edge, feeling the sharpened steel nip at his skin as if eager to taste blood. These would serve him well as replacements for his quarterstaff; the shaft was in bad shape and the point had been blunted after his last battle.

The clothes Hasek procured for him were as he expected: below satisfactory. However, they did appear to be more cleaner and comfortable than his armor. Among the items Hasek had given him, there was a discolored white shirt with puffed sleeves, faded blue tunic trimmed with dimming gold, dark pants that were more grey than black, and a ruddy-brown belt, all of which fit him a little too snugly, particularly the pants, which were not designed with clawed, cloven feet in mind. Two sizable slits had been added to the back of the shirt and tunic to accommodate his wings, apparently made with a dagger. Even so, he struggled to fit them through without causing further destruction to the fabric. He would need to keep the armored boots he stole from Kain's armory or go barefoot, as if he wasn't going to look out of place already, but he left them off for now.

He laid down on his side with his back to the wall and eyes on the door. Too anxious to sleep, afraid of dreaming, he stared at the door and reflected more on his mission. As he was no longer a wraith, Kain's Soul Reaver now posed a terrible threat to him. In order to challenge Kain for the Soul Reaver, he needed a powerful weapon. Yet the Soul Reaver was matched only by itself. That was why he retrieved the broken Reaver from Nosgoth's recent past, the sword that Kain used to attack him in the Sanctuary. Only one vampire in all of Nosgoth - past, present, and future - was capable of repairing it. Finding him was merely a matter of time.

He had searched the time stream for the perfect moment to see Vorador. That time was one hundred years after the corruption of the Pillars. Raziel had even witnessed fragments of their meeting in Termogent and pieces of Vorador repairing the Reaver. These events seemed predestined to occur. They had already occurred, in fact; he simply had not felt the effects yet.

In that era, a younger Kain had resurrected Vorador using the signet ring Vorador had given them at their first meeting. Through the visions granted to him by Moebius's divining cauldron, he had witnessed Vorador repair the sword centuries in Nosgoth's past. He knew that the young Kain would be living with Vorador in the time he would visit him. Hopefully these clothes (and a little magic) would be enough to convince Kain that he was one of Vorador's vampiric offspring and allow him to speak to the old vampire. Unfortunately, he did not know everything. He only managed to catch a few glimpses of the past before mental exhaustion overwhelmed him.

His wings rubbed together, membranes rustling, unaccustomed to being surrounded by linen. His extra appendages necessitated going shirtless. He tugged at his collar. Even with holes for his wings the fabric seemed to be suffocating him. "You'll get used to it," he told himself gruffly.

What was Kain doing now? He wished he could see. He doubted Kain knew of his plans. Still, Kain had always been one step ahead of him before. Centuries as a wraith left him with a deep distrust of those around him and an irrational belief that he was constantly under manipulation by some external force. Sometimes he managed to shake his paranoia. On an intellectual level he understood that these feelings were ridiculous and unhelpful, but the quiet stillness in his quarters heightened his underlying nervousness. He became obsessed with the footsteps of the patrols circling the roof of the library and quiet conversations going on in the nearby barracks.

When the sun finally rose Raziel was at the end of his chain. Having given up on rest, he had moved out of the storage closet to the main library and was grimly pacing the halls when Hasek emerged from his quarters, dressed in uniform and bleary eyed. He carried himself straight and tall. The wrinkles under his eyes gave him away. Hasek fell into step beside him. "How did it go?"

He was inquiring about the meeting with Kain. After aiding him with his equations Hasek had proven himself trustworthy enough to know a few secrets about the Vampire Lord. "Poorly. We must now resort to force. Have you sent the letter to General Kranz?"

Hasek looked faintly relieved. He had never agreed with the idea of making peace with the Vampire Lord, even if Kain was the Balance Guardian. By protecting Hasek's men and providing them with stolen weapons and armor from the vampires, which they melted down or used as-is, Raziel had earned Hasek's trust as well, though he had not completely abandoned his skepticism. "We just received his reply. He'll be here in two days. Is everything to your liking?"

"These clothes are a bit shabby but the falcatas are perfect. They will serve me well, I expect. I never realized your people had such skilled blacksmiths."

"Best we could do," Hasek said with a modest shrug. "Getting my hands on high quality clothes was difficult. No one I know was willing to part with their best outfit, especially after they learned I wouldn't be able to give it back, so I had to accept something a little worn in. That color was very popular a year ago." He looked at Raziel curiously. "So this sword you're after, is it the weapon you've been talking about?"

"No, although it is extraordinarily powerful. Once the General sees it he will understand that the only logical choice is to form an alliance with me and we will be able to take control of our real target. While I'm gone, I want you to study the maps I gave you of Zephonim territory."

"The Spider King?"

Raziel shut his eyes in annoyance. "His _name_ was Lord Zephon. The Silenced Cathedral is the capitol of Zephonim territory. That will be our target."

"Are you sure Kranz will listen?"

"You should already know the answer, Hasek." That was a lie. There was a possibility Kranz could choose differently, but Raziel doubted he would once he saw the the Reaver.

"I suppose I should. It's just that..." Hasek sighed, "It seems like everyone around here is trying to sell some sort of miracle cure. A man can only be disappointed so many times before he begins to see disappointment everywhere. I'm ready to place my bets with you, but if this thing goes sour I may lose my career. That's a death sentence."

"I assure you, there is no possibility of that happening." He honestly wished to avoid losing Hasek. The man made a fine ally and though they did not always see eye to eye Hasek had a good head on his shoulders. He also had a good heart. Early on it was clear that the only reason Hasek went along with Raziel was due to the things Raziel had shown him. They shared a common desire to see Nosgoth bloom again. Had he been born a thousand years ago Hasek would have made it far in the Razielim army. Pity he would soon be past his prime.

"I trust you. I'm not so sure about my men, to be honest, but they'll listen to me. Is there any assurance you can give them?"

"Nothing tangible. Tell them to wait until tomorrow. By then, I will have everything I need." Raziel stopped opened a pouch on his belt and took out Moebius's ring; a puny silver signet crafted for human fingers. He turned to the captain. "That will be all for now. Thank you, Hasek."

Hasek nodded respectfully. "Fight well."

Using this ring, Raziel teleported to the cauldron in the Oracle's Cave. From there he made his way deeper into the complex.

He retrieved the leather satchel containing the pieces of the Reaver from the room adjacent to the Chronoplast. The charts and notes he required to navigate the time stream were also inside. Before leaving his quarters in the fortified library, he had untied the Razielim banner from his quarterstaff and balled it up in his pocket. This he now placed inside of the satchel with the other things. He had plans for it later.

Now all that was left was to meet Vorador in a period when he still lived. Raziel sealed the Chronoplast chamber and manually turned the hands on each of the devices to set the Chronoplast to a time one hundred years after the corruption of the Pillars. As he did so the planetarium began to spin. Arcane energy crackled through the chamber. After he set the last dial, white light spilled from the portal. Everything was ready. Raziel stepped through the portal.

* * *

_1,900 Years Ago  
_

* * *

Blinking, Raziel found himself standing in a nearly identical Chronoplast. The main difference was that there was no blood on the floor and the air tasted stale, as if no one had stepped into this chamber in centuries. As the time streaming device powered down, all was deathly quiet. Raziel clicked his jaw and placed his satchel on the ground behind a column.

The young Kain also possessed a version of the Soul Reaver. No doubt he also kept that sword close to his side, as did the elder Kain. Before he could show Vorador the broken Reaver he needed to be sure he could meet with him alone and away from Kain. Even in this state the two Reavers would undoubtedly cause a flux. He descended the marble steps and exited the chamber, leaving the satchel behind.

He stopped mid-way through the cavern proper, taken back by an unexpected, yet welcome sight: silver moonlight raining down through a crag in the cave ceiling. The last time he came to this time period there had been a raging storm. He stood in the spot light, gazing up at the full moon embraced by an arm of shining stars.

With a flap of his wings he cleared the opening and stood atop the Oracle's Cave. A pine forest stretched out before him across the jagged hills and mountains of northern Nosgoth. The air smelled sweet with a faint hint of frost. Impassible mountains rose at his back, draped in blue mist, and before him to the south stretched a seemingly endless expanse of woodlands shivering with wildlife. White fog rose over the Lake of the Dead far away in the distance.

Spreading his wings, he leapt into the clear night sky. Termogent lay south east of here, but Raziel could not help himself. He soared higher, stretching out the land below him in a great sheet of trees and misty lakes and grass, circling the forest and the valley that would one day belong to his brother Dumah - but now belonged only to the wild. This was still a cursed Nosgoth, yet even after the Pillars were restored, this doomed land was more beautiful than the dead wasteland he left in the Chronoplast. Though the Pillars' absence chilled him, the sight of a green Nosgoth filled him with a renewed love for this land and he longed ever more dearly to see it return to its former splendor in the present.

Within an hour Raziel was flying over Termogent swamp, the vast wetlands created by the overflow of the Lake of the Dead. During his last visit to this time period he found the swamp filled with demons and other abominations. Indeed, he caught glimpses of large creatures moving through the trees, strange noises rumbling in the dark, and flashes of brightly colored skin and glowing eyes. He had no desire to investigate.

As he neared Vorador's mansion the trees grew sparse, having been cut down to build dry walk ways across the water, which was acidic to vampires, and barricades to keep out the demons. He circled the area until he found a safe, hidden place to land.

There was a gift Kain gave to all his lieutenants when they were young, a illusionary spell called _beguile_. _Beguile_ allowed them to alter the perceptions of weak minded humans and other beings. Using this spell, they could walk among humans undetected. The spell was flimsy, however. Using any of their other vampiric powers - even walking too quickly - could cause some humans to become suspicious and shatter the illusion. As they grew older, less human, the spell became less effective. With his white skin, cloven hands and feet, pointed ears, and wings, it would be impossible for Raziel to pass for human using this spell. But _beguile_ had other uses.

Though it took him several minutes to remaster this old skill, he managed to disguise his wings with the illusion of a blue cloak and alter his facial features. Raziel examined the results of his spell by viewing his reflection in the water. He could not pass for human - but he _could_ pass for one of Vorador's children.

To complete the illusion he should take an alias. Raziel already had one in mind.

Kain was barely over a century in this time period and his children, as well as those of Vorador, could not be older than that. Raziel was more than ten times their age. This illusion should be able to fool them - but not Vorador. He imagined the sight of his wings would merely encourage Vorador to speak with him. The old vampire was too self-reliant and proud to bring Kain into the matter.

According to his visions, Kain had resurrected Vorador in this time period and was living with him in his mentor's mansion in Termogent forest at the edge of the swamp. He did not want to risk revealing his true identity to the young Kain, lest his master remember his visit in the present and realize his next move.

He plodded along the hilly path toward the gates of Vorador's mansion. In order to avoid breaking the illusion he needed to refrain from using his wings and feign weakness to water. By the time he reached the gates he resented the earth.

Crudely reinforced with stone and wood, the magnificent outer wall of the castle had seen many battles since his last visit. A blonde haired vampire guard stood posted on the wall near the gate. Judging by his ashen complexion, small ears, and frail human hands he must have been quite young, possibly even a fledgling. Raziel supposed he should feel intimidated. He smiled. "Hello, my child!"

The fledgling narrowed his eyes quizzically, hand on his sword. He barked, "Who are you?"

"I am Azrael, friend of Vorador. I've come to see the master of this estate."

"What for?"

"I require his assistance. Will you let me through?"

"Wait." The fledgling disappeared behind the wall. He re-appeared a moment later and eyed Raziel like a venomous snake. "I sent Garret to fetch the master. Where did you come from?"

"The mountains. Are you one of his children?"

"Where in the mountains?"

"Near Uschtenheim. Have you ever been? Its lovely, during the winter, but it gets gloomy this time of year."

The fledgling frowned. "Master says there ain't any vampires left, 'cept for us."

Raziel's smile began to wilt. The more he spoke with this fledgling the more convinced he became that he was far from high born. Even the slaves from which he turned his children received training in etiquette. He thought Vorador would be more discerning. "We've been out of touch for quite a long time." Aeons, in fact.

"Oh really?" said the fledgling doubtfully.

This brazen fledgling tried his patience. He sighed dismissively. "I tire of this conversation, child. I'll wait for Vorador."

The fledgling scoffed and cryptically mocked, "You'll be waiting a while..."

What was that supposed to mean? With the Pillars destroyed in this time period, his clairvoyance was severely diminished. He expected this from his earlier travels. Before he left through the Chronoplast, he had educated himself about this time period using the cauldron in Moebius's secret chamber and thought that he learned everything he needed to know. He was positive he was in the correct time period.

Suddenly, the young Kain appeared on the wall. It had been so long since he saw him without his natural crown of horns and pale yellow skin that he barely recognized him. His hair was shorter, silvery rather than the pure white to which he was accustomed, and hung wildly about his face like a mane. Those solid, golden eyes had not changed in centuries. The Soul Reaver was mounted on his back. The fledgling whispered to him, apparently passing on the notes from their conversation. Kain eyed him critically. "You seek Vorador?"

He disliked the way Kain framed that question. "That's correct."

Kain exchanged glances with his fledgling and nodded. While the fledgling opened the gate, Kain looked down at Raziel intently before going down the steps and disappearing out of sight. Raziel touched the hilt of his falcata anxiously. Something felt wrong. He would have to stay on his toes. With the gate opened, Raziel crossed the threshold.


	11. An Unruly Child

Dogs started barking the moment the gate opened. As he entered the courtyard he noticed several large dogs of an unusual breed leaping inside a pen. These enormous hounds appeared to be a cross between a pit bull and a mastiff with short, brindle coats, cropped tails and small ears. Their jaws were monstrous. Something clicked in Raziel's brain. "You breed dogs?"

Kain seemed proud that he noticed. "Fine looking animals, aren't they? Please, come inside."

Apparently, dog breeding had been a hobby of Kain's since before the dawn of the empire. As they passed the cage Raziel eyed the beasts within. They looked quite similar to the breed Kain would use for hunting demons later in Nosgoth's history. Hell-hounds, he called them. He had no idea that Kain was already experimenting with the breed in this time period.

Come to think of it, he couldn't recall seeing any hell-hounds after his return from the abyss. Maybe Kain grew tired of them and released them to the wild. He had done the same with the clans.

Raziel's gaze circled the courtyard. One hundred years after Moebius and his men stormed Vorador's mansion, the courtyard was still in ruins. Stagnant green rain water filled the basins of the inactive fountains. The stone pedestals, once home to statues depicting the Ancient winged vampires, were cracked, chipped, mossy, and falling into ruin. Weeds and grass forced their way through the cobblestone path. The gate creaked and slammed closed behind them. As they ascended the broken steps, Raziel noted the shattered glass patched together with wood planks. Kain paused at the doors of the mansion and eyed him quizzically. "There's no need to be polite. This was the work of Moebius and his crusaders. I know this place is not elegant as it once was; we're doing the best we can with what we have."

Inside the main hall, the walls had been stripped of much of their wallpaper. Where once hung portraits of vampires and beautiful artwork of Nosgoth's rich landscape there remained only crooked nails and shabby flags bearing a family crest of human design. Perhaps it was meant to represent the crest of Kain's noble family.

The hallway forked before entering the main chamber. At this juncture, mounted on the wall like a crude trophy, the horrid head of a red demon roared in silence. Having faced these demons many times himself, Raziel knew that he was looking at the genuine article. However, whomever tried to taxidermy it was a novice at best. The demon's lips curled upward unnaturally and its eyes appeared to have been made from crudely carved stone. One of its ram horns was on crooked. Inside the main room Raziel discovered further example of this depraved artist's handiwork. He lowered his eyes, doing his best not to cringe, when he was struck by the pungent aroma of mold, rotten meat, and wet dog. Raziel pressed his hand over his mouth and steeled himself with Kain walking in front of him. He swallowed.

"This is... not what I imagined..." he said quietly, straining to withhold his criticism. He could forgive the broken windows and cracked walls. What excuse did Vorador have for that awful smell? And why these macabre statues? If Vorador wanted to flaunt the demons he had slain, surely he would take greater care in preserving them. The old vampire had earned his respect through forthright words and proud dignity. Before Moebius's cutthroats attacked, his mansion had been a handsome reflection of his personality. Naturally his home would not be as proud as it once was, but this was _nothing_ like the lair of the vampire he remembered.

"We're re-decorating," Kain quipped. Raziel scowled despite himself, offended by the crude joke.

They entered Vorador's library. Kain held open the door and gazed at him expectantly. Although he sensed other vampires in the room, Raziel entered without protest. He heard Kain follow behind him and close the door.

There were three other vampires in the room. Doing a quick scan of the room, Raziel formulated a strategy for dealing with them. Kain walked in front of him, standing uncomfortably close. "Do you know who I am?"

Raziel showed no fear. "Of course. Kain, Scourge of the Circle. Your reputation is infamous."

"It is that. You are called Azrael, is that right? I've never heard of you."

"Vorador and I are two of a kind. We keep to ourselves."

"You'll find me dissimilar. Your visit comes at a strange time, Azrael. In the century since Vorador's execution I have not encountered a single member of my kind, apart from those you see here. How did you escape Moebius's Crusade when so many others did not?"

"These are your children?" Raziel asked, surprised. The three vampires smirked and chuckled lightly. That would explain why none of these fledglings reflected Vorador's sensibilities. But why would Vorador allow Kain to turn so many vampires? Suddenly, all the pieces started falling into place. Vorador was still dead. His lips parted. He took a small step back, lowering his eyes. He could barely contain his shock. There was a long pause while he struggled to compose himself. "I see... So Vorador is dead. Now I understand why you've been so suspicious of me. I'm sorry, I heard that he had been raised."

He seemed to have said the right thing, for Kain's eyes brightened with intrigue. His posture relaxed a hair and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I have tried. I know the location of his body, but even if I could reach it I lack the means to revive him."

Raziel sensed an opening. "Do you have his signet ring?"

"Yes."

"That ring contains a spark of Vorador's soul. If you use it on his body, it should be enough to call his soul back from the Underworld."

Kain regarded him warily. However, Raziel could see that he was enticed by the promise of Vorador's resurrection. "How do you know this?"

Raziel allowed himself a small smile. "I knew Vorador well. Where is the body?"

"In the ruins of the Sarafan Stronghold."

_"Ah." _Of course. He recalled seeing a statue of Moebius holding aloft Vorador's head as a grizzly trophy in the chapel of the Stronghold during his last visit to this time period. The head appeared to be the genuine article, clearly not made of stone, and as it showed no signs of decay that must mean that Vorador's body still resided somewhere within the Stronghold. It seemed he could salvage his plans after all.

"I suppose you know the way inside," Kain observed, arching a brow.

"I've yet to come across a stronghold I can't penetrate. The Great Southern Lake is infested with demons and demon hunters, but they shouldn't pose a threat to you, judging by your decor."

The corners of Kain's mouth pricked smugly. Raziel knew how to appeal to his blood lust. It was satisfying to hold the upper hand over Kain, for while Raziel knew him like a father Kain did not yet know anything about Raziel. Finally, he was beyond manipulation by his master. Kain turned to his children. "Ronin, Cutter, Byron - prepare the banquet hall for a feast in honor of our guest."

While Kain's children prepared the dining hall, Kain showed Raziel around what was left of Vorador's mansion. As they walked, Kain probed him with questions about his past and relationship with Vorador. Raziel kept his answers tactfully vague. Fortunately Kain's suspicions appeared to have eased; he showed more willingness to accept what little he was told. He told Kain just enough to satisfy his curiosity and distracted him with inquiries to talk about himself, using Kain's vanity to his advantage. This was almost too easy. No wonder the young Kain so often found himself manipulated. The elder Kain would never fall for such simple tricks. Raziel almost wanted to scold him.

"I apologize for startling you earlier," Kain said at length once Raziel had gained his trust. "Ever since the fall of the Pillars I've found myself the target of numerous assassins. It pays to be suspicious."

So Kain thought him an assassin? How ironic. Raziel decided it would be wise not to comment, but he might allow himself a small chuckle in private.

When it came time to return to the banquet hall Raziel thought he knew what to expect, having shared many amusing evenings with his former brothers at the elder Kain's dining table in the Sanctuary of the Clans. There would be blood, of course. On some occasions Kain would allow his most alluring slaves to wander the banquet hall scantily clad and Raziel and the others would help themselves to the feast. Most of the time there would be a human sacrifice. A quick slice with a sharpened dagger would open the jugular and the cauldrons would fill with rich red blood. It was all quite tastefully done. Duals were often held to provide entertainment. There was often sweet music playing and the hearth roared with a healthy, crackling flame. As they smoked and drank Kain and the lieutenants shared stories and jokes with silver tongues. Conversation itself was an art.

He could scarcely recall an unpleasant memory at that table. In fact it made him pine for the good old days. Although he held few regrets about killing his brothers, at times like this, he missed them dearly. Melchiah had been the best storyteller at the table, but as his appearance degenerated he spoke up less and less, leaving Dumah and Kain to lead the conversation. Those nights were one of the few times he genuinely enjoyed Zephon's company. Despicable though he was, he knew how to get a laugh. What he wouldn't give to return to such an innocent time.

There was something strangely quaint about having dinner with young Kain in Vorador's manor. The elder Kain symbolically kept a seat open for Vorador at his table. He wondered if the young Kain showed his mentor the same courtesy.

As Kain opened the double doors of Vorador's banquet hall Raziel recoiled in shock. Rusty meat hooks suspended by chins and drenched in gore hung over the dining table. Blood dripped freely over the table and the floor, splattering everywhere and staining the wood dark red. The stench of rotten flesh was even thicker than before. Bones both human and demon littered the floor, gnawed on by Kain's gigantic hell-hounds. Vorador's dining table was crooked, its chairs pulled out haphazardly. Kain's fledglings milled around. They filled their goblets with blood from the bowls scattered across the table. Raziel was speechless. In a trance, he followed Kain to the dining table and gawked as Kain presented him with a tarnished, bloody chalice. He accepted it carefully, as gracefully as he could, but his smile turned when he noticed a bit of red flesh floating grotesquely in the blood. Scanning his surroundings, he lamented that a clean napkin would be too much to ask for.

Yet another extraordinarily boorish attempt at taxidermy smiled at him from across the hall. The green demon's head appeared deformed, like a horse killed with a sledge hammer. This monstrosity was ten times more terrifying than the real thing. Again, he hesitated to ask who was responsible. His curiosity got the better of him. "You're quite fond of these demons..." he commented hesitantly.

Kain smiled, proud of his abomination. "They provide more of a challenge than these pathetic humans. Let me show you something. Malek!"

The largest hell-hound picked up his bone and trotted up to Kain, his stubby tail wagging. Kain went down on one knee and wrestled the bone from Malek's jaws. Raziel could not hide the look of surprise that flashed across his face. _Malek_ was the name of the former Conflict Guardian and ex-leader of the Sarafan Order. Under the guidance of Ariel's disembodied spirit, the fledgling Kain had murdered Malek with the help of Vorador. It was one of Kain's favorite stories. Malek the hell-hound growled as Kain pulled at his bone. Kain bared his fangs. "Give. Give, Malek."

Reluctantly, Malek gave. Setting the bone on the ground, he turned Malek's head to face Raziel and spread his lips with his fingers. Malek's canines gleamed with sharp metal caps. The dog's jaws looked sturdy enough to chop off Kain's fingers in a single bite. For such an impressive beast, Malek was extraordinarily well behaved. His beady brown eyes strained to look at Kain. It hurt to look at the trust in those eyes. "I've bred these dogs specifically to hunt demons; I call them hell-hounds. I've been breeding them for about half a century. Even so, the demons' skin is too tough for their teeth - so I've had to improvise. These are made with steel. I forged them myself."

"How do you attach them?" Raziel asked absently. Something about Kain's love for his dogs made him ill.

Kain took his fingers out of Malek's mouth. The dog was growing fussy. Malek sniffed at Kain's face. He pushed his head aside and lovingly scratched him behind the ears. "Like False teeth. It's for their own good. Their real teeth wear down and shatter over time. Demon flesh is too tough for them, but it makes good armor. I've used it to construct some light pieces to protect them from the demons' flames and acid. I taught myself using the journals in Vorador's library."

Raziel never knew Kain used to dabble in blacksmithing. He could hardly imagine his master dirtying himself over a hot forge. Kain stood and dusted off his knees. "You'll see more of my work tomorrow when we journey to the Sarafan Stronghold."

"I look forward to it," he said automatically. He noticed the bone Malek had been gnawing on appeared to be a human femur. In theory it was a rather elegant solution. Of course, it would be more effective if Kain picked up after them. He swirled his drink, cringing at the strip of flesh as it bobbed about like a floundering ship. He stared at his wrist instead.

The next thing he knew Kain was escorting him around the hall and introducing him to his children one by one. He remembered Ronin, Cutter, and Byron from the library. Garret, who had gone to fetch Kain when Raziel requested entry, was also present. The others were called Percival, Miles, Grimsley, and Raynold. The fledgling guarding the gate must still be on duty. Raziel envied him.

Kain's children seemed to have been chosen based solely on physical prowess and ruthlessness. They had the look and manners of bandits and marauders. Grimsley and Garret seemed to have been recruited straight from the ranks of Moebius's cutthroat mob of vampire hunters and Raynold reminded him of the demon hunters he encountered during his last foray into this time period. Ronin and Cutter were the most intimidating of the lot. Ronin could have been mistaken for being half-demon, if such a thing was possible, for he was almost seven feet tall and covered in tattoos. Raziel sensed no comradery between them. They kept to themselves in small groups, becoming disgruntled whenever Kain tried to draw them together. Rather than greet him with the respect normally deferred to a vampire of his age, each of them looked him straight in the eyes as if they intended to spit in his face. They seemed eager use him as a tool to prove their bravery.

"Where'd you get these funny clothes?" Miles pried, grabbing at Raziel's sleeve. He jerked back with a sneer.

"He's quite queer looking," added Percival with a snicker.

While the others laughed Raziel quietly placed a hand on his right falcata. Kain must have noticed his agitation, because he choose this moment to take control of the conversation. He tried to place his hand on Raziel's shoulder. Fortunately, Raziel noticed the gesture before it happened and quickly moved out of the way. If Kain had taken him by surprise he would have ran him through with his sword. Ever since Kain tore the wings from his back, he had been jumpy about other vampires sneaking up behind him. Besides, he would rather roll around on Kain's filthy floor than let that bastard touch him.

To his credit, Kain ignored the slight. At least he had the good sense to respect Raziel's seniority - or maybe he just knew better than to provoke the vampire who was his only chance at resurrecting Vorador. He wondered if Kain's children even cared.

Changing the subject, Kain began to entertain them by recounting the tale of how he slaughtered the Circle of Nine and destroyed the Pillars. It was a familiar story, one Raziel now saw in quite a different light. To make matters worse, Kain's children continually interrupted him with rowdy remarks and additions. Shockingly, Kain played along with their game. Raziel couldn't stand this any longer.

"Why would you brag about being the cause of such a terrible event?" Some of Kain's children chuckled at his accusation, but Kain eyed him with anger and distrust. Raziel was undaunted. "Don't you find it odd that these demons started appearing in mass numbers only after the Pillars' collapse? And what about the mutants roaming the swamp? You can't have failed to notice the corruption spreading through Nosgoth."

Kain bared his teeth, "If you had let me finish, you would know that these demons were summoned here by none other than Azimuth, the Dimension Guardian, to serve the unholy cult she and Mortanius founded. The Circle brought this upon themselves. I merely refused to be their pawn."

"You're no better than they were. You might even be worse."

The peanut gallery howled at Raziel's outburst, but not one of them stepped in to defend their master's honor. They merely gathered around, eager to see the bloodbath that was sure to ensue. Kain reached for the Soul Reaver. "You'll watch your tongue in my house, stranger," he growled.

"It is not your's! This house belongs to Vorador, the oldest of us all, and you lot are nothing more than filthy squatters! You are no better than the mob that ransacked and desecrated this manor."

"That's enough!" Kain snapped, putting the Soul Reaver to Raziel's chest. The eyes of the sword glowed in harmony with Kain's anger. "One more word out of you, Azrael, and I'll make you regret it."

Raziel curled his lip. He searched Kain's eyes and felt disappointed by what he saw. "You expect me to believe that you would gamble Vorador's life to silence me when you lack the courage to silence your own men while they make a mockery of you? These spawn of your's are vermin and you, Kain, are an unruly child. I can only imagine what Vorador would do to you if he saw what you've become. Even vermin are too ashamed to revel in their own filth."

He threw his goblet on the ground. The blood splattered at Kain's feet. Only Raziel noticed Kain's subtle flinch. Seeing his uncertainty, he shoved the Soul Reaver aside with his bare hand, a defiance which shocked Kain's children into abject silence.

"I refuse to take part in your travesty," Raziel snarled. Shoving Raynold and Miles out of his way, he stormed from the banquet hall without looking back. He needed fresh air and silence to calm down.

...

Raziel headed for the green house behind Vorador's mansion, but discovered the glass panes broken and the ground barren. Through the empty iron frames he saw a grey demon pacing back and fourth in a small cage. As he walked out onto the path, the demon suddenly stopped and glared at him, its stalks glowing electric violet. Lightning crackled through its pincers. He froze suddenly, afraid it would recognize him. It merely roared at him. His spell easily fooled the weak minded demon. He bared his fangs and turned, heading further down the winding path at a steady pace, eager to escape this horrid place.

This path had changed surprisingly little during his absence. As he wandered further from the mansion the path faded with overgrowth. Along his way, he passed an old well choked with creepers and obscured by wild grass. The gas lamps had fallen silent, inhabited now by birds and spiders.

A huge edifice, its facade dressed in vines and decay, loomed at the end of the path. Angelic statues guarded its walls.

But they were not angels. They were representations of the Ancients, the original vampire race before the Hylden's curse transformed them into parasitic monsters whose only means of passing on their bloodline was to share their curse with humans, whether they were willing or not. This was the mausoleum of Janos Audron, the last of the Ancients, Vorador's maker, and an old friend. Raziel stood before the door and gazed into the empty eyes of the winged guardian statue, feeling his throat tighten.

He lowered his eyes and brushed away some of the dirt. There used to be a colorful design here, painted and carved into stone, but it was too faded to make out. Time had swallowed everything.

Through a large crack in the wall, Raziel entered the main chamber and stood in the quiet darkness. Moss hung down through cracks in the ceiling. Mud had rushed in during a recent storm, leaving the ground moist, filthy, and icily cold. The doorway leading to the lower chamber and Janos' resting place was still open. When he came to the stairs he found them flooded with murky water, the lower chamber completely submerged. He lingered at the top of the stairs, longing to enter that familiar chamber and pretend.

On the last night he returned to this place, not long before the Pillars' collapse, the city of Avernus had been beset by a blazing inferno that lit up the darkness for miles and blotted out the stars with smoke. He could still smell the ashes. During their confrontation in Avernus Cathedral, the elder Kain had warned him not to resurrect Janos. He had not been willing to listen. That was putting it lightly; he had been _aggressively_ obstinate.

He remembered his gruesome trophy, the Heart of Darkness throbbing in his hand as he entered Janos' mausoleum, still smelling of Kain's blood. Kain's blood was not the only stain on his hands. He had also murdered his time lost brother, Turel, who bore him into the abyss, in the secret chamber beneath Avernus Cathedral. The twists of fate he had uncovered in that maddening place had howled within his mind, blotting out everything else, and though his purpose was to resurrect Janos he could not stop his thoughts from turning to the brothers he had killed. The empire he helped found had turned against him. He had returned their betrayal ten fold, a righteous angel of death and vengeance. Yet, in spite of everything, killing Kain had turned out to be no more satisfying than cutting off his own hand out of spite.

After he had returned the Heart to its original owner the wound in Janos's chest closed itself and the Ancient arose with a gasp. Raziel came to Janos lost, disillusioned, and stricken with the bitterest of grief for all that he had once been and all that he was doomed to become, solely motivated by desperation and denial.

Janos transported them to the Vampire Citadel. There, with his guidance, Raziel had forged the Spirit Reaver that would purify Kain (but he didn't understand that then - he hadn't understood anything yet). Then came the cataclysmic moment of the Pillars' collapse. As the Pillars shattered, their ruined trunks still stuck in the corrupted earth, the Hylden used that moment to possess the body of Janos Audron. This was what Kain had tried to warn him about.

In a moment of lucidity, Janos begged Raziel to kill him. He knew because of the horror in Janos's eyes that he had seen the Hylden's plans for Nosgoth when they took possession of his body. In order to protect Nosgoth from the Hylden's genocidal intentions, Janos had begged Raziel to destroy him: the very last creature in the world he held dear. Of course he could not do it. The moment of opportunity vanished as the Hylden once again took control. The Hylden used Janos's own powers to destroy Raziel's material form, returning his soul to the Spectral Realm. That was how Raziel became imprisoned with his Benefactor in the Spectral Realm of the Vampire Citadel. There he had raged uselessly against his smugly triumphant Benefactor, until Kain fortuitously and unwittingly offered a way out.

Raziel knew that his reasons for sacrificing himself to the Reaver had much more to do with personal defiance than saving Nosgoth, a responsibility he neither wanted nor believed himself worthy of, even to this day. In part he wanted to correct his failure to save Janos, but that was not the whole reason. He had too much pride to commit self-annihilation unless he had some self interest at heart. As he stood upon the steps within Janos's vacant tomb, he finally admitted to what he had known all along, the truth behind that apparently selfless act: He had given himself to the Reaver to satisfy the whimpering voice inside his head, _Make it stop. Please, god, make this all stop. I can't take it anymore._ At least he could say that peace of mind was not his sole motivation.

Janos deserved this destiny far more than he. He had been willing to end his own life for more noble reasons. As he reflected on this, he wondered where Janos was now and what the Hylden were using him for. His eyes hardened.

He believed that he would find answers eventually, but there was simply no time now. He needed to find Vorador, complete his plan, and force Kain to surrender the Soul Reaver before it was too late. Dealing with the remnants of the clans would take time. Kain was right when he warned that returning the Soul Reaver to Avernus would lead to war. During these times of uncertainty, the clans' war was the only inevitability. Once Nosgoth was stable, he also wanted to find a cure for the Hylden's curse. With everything else on his agenda, this undertaking would be long in coming indeed. Without the Hub of the Wheel, Raziel could not see far enough into Nosgoth's future to know if his plans would pan out long term. There were simply too many variables. He had neither the skill nor the endurance to follow each tributary to its conclusion. He needed to rely on his best judgement. It was not ideal.

The silence in the tomb was broken by Raziel's sigh. He did not feel like Nosgoth's Savior. Nor did he find himself especially qualified for the title of Time Streamer. In his opinion, the Pillars had chosen extremely poorly. But Raziel knew that even with freewill he could not always direct his fate; it was time to play the cards he had been dealt.

Gazing at the still flood waters, he suddenly understood that peculiar human compulsion to lay flowers on a grave. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and slowly closed his eyes. It felt peaceful here, like being with an old friend. There were so many things he wanted to say.

"Someday," he said, tasting the moist air on his tongue. "I'm sorry it has to be so long. You were the first person to greet me with genuine concern - with compassion when you saw what I had been reduced to: a grotesque, blue corpse. That was the kindest thing anyone had done for me since my execution. Did you know how much that meant?"

He did not expect a response. Still, it felt good to speak and imagine a friendly face listening. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Twice I've tried and failed. Our time together should never have been so brief. Even though we barely knew each other, I always felt as though we were old friends." He smiled fleetingly. "You would probably be angry with me if you knew what I'm planning on doing. I doubt this was in any of your prophecies. If you had a better solution, I would listen. But it seems this is something I need to do alone. If I succeed, I will find you again. I won't fail you next time. I promise."

The chamber was silent for a moment. "I'm worried about Kain. He's nothing like the vampire I imagined from his stories. Sometimes it seems he can't even control his own children. I want to give him guidance but I fear saying too much will alter the future even further. Then at other times I see a flicker of the vampire I used to admire; it makes me sick. I hate him and yet I want to help him." He sighed, feeling like a helpless fool.

"I don't know how you endured your Sarafan tormentors for centuries and still found it in your heart to forgive them. There was a time I would have thought it weak to forgive a foe for delivering a fatal blow. I can't even forgive myself, let alone Kain, but in the end..." He shook his head. No, he could not say he should have listened to Kain. Maybe the outcome would have been even worse if he had. It was unhealthy to speculate on such matters. "I wish I could ask for your advice. When I return to the present, I'll have to decide what to do with him. I've looked into the time stream for guidance but I still don't know what to do. Should I kill him or does he deserve another chance? What is better for Nosgoth?"

There was no reply. Raziel could not even imagine what Janos would say. He had no answers himself. This time he was unmotivated by revenge, but even looking at this situation with a clear head there were no obvious solutions. Even an uncorrupted Kain was still dangerous. Now that the Pillars were restored Nosgoth no longer seemed to need its Scion of Balance, but what if he was wrong? What if the affects of Kain's death did not manifest in the time stream until decades later? He could not see that far reliably when the time stream was so fragmented. He did not want to kill Kain, but what if he had to?

"I still need you, Janos. Wherever you are... I hope you know that." He lingered there for an undetermined time, letting the silence envelope him like a blanket. Perhaps he could divine some wisdom simply from standing in this place. But perhaps not. He straightened. Kain would be missing him soon. Before he left, he cast a parting glance at the waters. "Stay safe, friend."


	12. Another Name for Madness

Raziel did not find Kain upon his return to the manor - had not desired to find him, but eagerly took to wandering, faithful that they would come across each other sooner or later, as they always did. The visit to Janos's crypt had lifted his spirits. Though he suffered this loss as keenly as ever, his grief only invigorated his resolve to restore Nosgoth and see his friend again. He felt as though Janos was with him now, guiding and watching over him. In this company, Raziel wandered the dilapidated halls of Vorador's manor, thoughtfully silent.

Vorador was Janos's child and the first vampire sired from human flesh and blood. After the Hylden's Curse left the Ancients impotent, it was Janos who discovered how to pass on the Ancients' bloodline without sexual reproduction and thereby keep the Pillars under vampire guardianship. From Vorador and Janos sprang all the vampire bloodlines of Nosgoth (although Vorador was merely Kain's mentor, not his sire). As Vorador died before Janos was raised, and as Janos's possession by the Hylden was his doing, should he inform Vorador of his sire's fate when they met?

This brought up a troubling question. Was Vorador _meant_ to know what became of Janos?

Considering this question, Raziel found himself thinking back to his final conversation with Vorador on the night when Avernus burned. Side by side they had been walking up the path from Janos's crypt toward the gardens and the greenhouse behind Vorador's mansion. The sky had clouded over the cool night. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, but the rain had not yet begun to fall. Still a wraith, his body wrecked and wings ruined from the abyss of his execution, the flaps of his wings stirred faintly with every step he took and brushed against his legs and back, a constant, grim reminder. As they walked together Raziel had experienced a similar feeling of calm determination to which he felt now.

Although Vorador had sneered at his ghoulish appearance when they first met at the Ancient swamp ruins, by then he seemed to have grown accustomed - even indifferent to Raziel's cadaverousness. He did not stare, though he had every opportunity. Earlier, Raziel had not known that the crypt where he found Vorador meditating housed Janos's body, but when he brought up the subject of Vorador's Ancient sire the vampire led him to Janos's chamber without pretense. With reverence the body had been laid out on an alter, watched over by the glow of a hundred candles. After showing him the body, Vorador entrusted him with the task of recovering Janos's Heart. In light of his initial disappointment with Vorador's lack of answers, this was more than he could have hoped for.

Raziel had learned to be distrustful of those who handed him exactly what he wanted without protest. From their earlier encounter in Termogent, he knew Vorador to be a forthright creature. Vorador's initial reluctance to trust him also bolstered his confidence in the old vampire, who only offered his help once he had discerned he meant no harm but did so with none of the pretentiousness to which he was accustomed from Kain.

During the course of his journey, Raziel had never considered altering anyone's destiny save his own, yet as he and Vorador walked through the anxious night he found himself inexplicably compelled to try.

_"Moebius's forces are mobilizing against you in Termogent. I passed their encampment on the way here. There were eighty, maybe over a hundred, and they have a generous supply of explosives."_ Raziel studied Vorador's unconcerned expression. _"They are intent on killing you."_

"It's a little game we've been playing." Vorador's flippant reply flustered him. He did not dare imply what he knew to be the truth, that Vorador would be captured, dragged to the city near the Sarafan Stronghold, and beheaded on a stage in front of thousands of jeering humans.

_"Have they ever breached your walls before?"_

"Once, a few years ago. I was the lone survivor." His citrine eyes bled solemness. Kain had mentioned Vorador's vampire wives in his stories. They had been alive when the young Kain met him, before he altered history with the Soul Reaver. Kain's paradox would lead directly to their deaths, Vorador's execution, and the near extinction of the vampire race. That bastard seemed to destroy everything he touched.

_"I understand. You must crave vengeance,_" he said gently. If he had not feared muddling his message, he would have shared how the elder Kain had executed him and allowed his clan to die out. Like Vorador, he had lost all his wives and children. _"Do you intend to go on fighting until the bitter end?"_

Vorador had fallen silent for a moment, then sighed. "To tell the truth, I tire of it. Their incessant attacks are a tedious reminder of humanity's abhorrence and the tragic mistakes of our past. By our own doing we stand on the brink of oblivion. Kain and I are the last of our kind; but he is young and idealistic, and I am old and tired. Even if you resurrect Janos, I doubt his wisdom will do us any good."

_"You must feel some hope."_

"Hope or madness."

_"Hope by another name."_

Vorador chuckled dimly. Satisfied that he had momentarily improved his mood, Raziel paused to consider the best course.

_"With Avernus in such chaos, it may be difficult to find the Heart. I would be honored if you accompanied me."_

"If the Heart is meant to be found, that path is for you alone. I would be of no help."

_"You, _Vorador?_ I find that hard to believe."_

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he said wryly. His tone descended into sedateness. "I've already made up my mind to stay. If I triumph then all will be well. If I fail, Moebius's dogs will be too content in their victory to search my estate further. However, if I am not here they will no doubt find Janos's body and destroy it. You have your own destiny to follow. This is where I make my stand."

He could not argue with Vorador's logic. He almost told Vorador what he knew of the future, as if his impending death might convince him, but when he considered what he would have wanted in Vorador's position he decided instead to honor the old vampire's wishes. It was kinder not to tell him.

With his new understanding of fate, Raziel now understood that even if he could have convinced Vorador to come with him, Vorador still would have been killed somehow, perhaps even in a way that made his resurrection impossible. The new timeline birthed when Kain's Soul Reaver met with William's demanded that Vorador die. History was not helpless against Raziel's freewill. The currents of time pushed against him still, diminishing the consequences of his actions so that only by summoning _the entirety _of his will could he hope to change anything.

Even time travel was predestined. In the aftermath of Kain's paradox, the shattering of William's Soul Reaver demanded that Raziel go back in time as a wraith and re-unite the physical Soul Reaver with the wraith blade in order to repair it from its damaged state. Likewise, history demanded that he go back in time to merge himself with the original version of the sword, the Blood Reaver forged by Vorador with Janos's magic. Even though the elder Kain saved him from the Reaver when it was supposed to absorb him in the original timeline, ultimately, he still needed to join the blade. The key difference, the single determining factor which allowed the elder Kain to restore the future, was that in the time between his rescue and willing entry into the sword he had accomplished the purification of the wraith blade. If not for that, all his suffering would have been for nothing.

Nothing in Nosgoth's history made sense without the Soul Reaver.

Perhaps he arrived in this time period because it was impossible for Kain to resurrect Vorador without his assistance. This made sense; his being here was only made possible through the creation of the Spirit Reaver. So then, was he also meant to tell Vorador what became of Janos? The young Kain could not do it. He had never met Janos. With the crypt flooded, Vorador would assume the body had been destroyed in water. Only Raziel knew the truth.

If only he had access to clairvoyance in this time period. With the Pillars now broken and corrupted he felt blind. All he knew of the future was what he had learned through divination and at the time he had not considered the possibility of informing Vorador of Janos, so he did not know if he would (he supposed he could still use the divining pool in the Oracle's Cave even in this time period, but that could take hours).

Might it be possible for Vorador to rescue Janos if he knew he was alive somewhere? He ached with temptation.

When he tried to find Janos in the time of the Pillars' restoration he had found no trace of the Ancient. However, his search had been painfully short. Although his destiny shared a connection with Janos that made it possible to view his fate with greater ease, divining always left him mentally and emotionally drained. He could have traced Janos's destiny from a known point in history, their last meeting at the Vampire Citadel, if he possessed the strength to endure the torment of knowing what he had condemned him to. If Vorador did rescue Janos then it was possible that he did not live through Kain's empire, explaining his absence. It might also be that he was never rescued at all.

The sharp, agitated clicking of his jaw seemed to echo in his bones. He felt like attacking something. Alas, this dilemma could not be resolved so easily.

Nearing the end of the hall, Raziel spotted an ornate double-door, clearly carved by a hand far more skilled than made the abominations that decorated Kain's banquet hall. The handles were brass dragons. These dragons - wyrms, to be precise - were standard in Vorador's manor. Unlike the other doors in Vorador's manor, their handles filthy from use, this door appeared to have been left in peace for some time. Could this bee Vorador's own room? Intrigued, Raziel tried one of the handles. Sadly, it was locked.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Frowning, Raziel looked over his shoulder at the angered Kain. With annoyance, he recalled the elder Kain's words in Avernus: _Our destinies run together, Raziel, like two rivers that have met and can never be distinct again. At your every fatal turn, you will find me._ Bollocks.

The young Kain brashly crowded in front of him and placed his hand on the door firmly as if to emphasize his intent. As always, he carried the Soul Reaver on his back. "This room is off-limits to you and everyone else."

"It's Vorador's," Raziel coldly observed. Kain's sentimentality for the old vampire did not truly surprise him. No matter how he tried to deny it, Kain spoke of Vorador too much to convince him that he felt no affection for his mentor. There was some small satisfaction in catching him with his heart exposed. Kain narrowed his eyes, arms crossed.

Naturally, he avoided the subject. "While you were cowering in your mountain retreat, did you have any idea of the genocide occurring below? Where were you when Moebius had Vorador's head on the chopping block? In the century since his execution, what have you accomplished for our race?"

Taken aback, Raziel said nothing. He had no case here.

Kain leaned over him trenchantly. "Then do not criticize what you do not understand."

And once again Raziel lost the upper-hand to his master. In the grand scheme of his plans it mattered not at all, but it still stunned him to discover that even this Kain could occasionally silence him with words. Kain held him in stand-off for a good ten seconds before he was satisfied. He unfolded his arms and stepped away from the door. "Come with me. You're going to need armor."

"I'm sorry?"

"Something to protect your tender flesh."

Hot on his heels, Raziel replied snappishly, "I have no _need_ for armor. I fight better the lighter I am on my feet."

"Even against demons?" Kain quipped.

"Overgrown goblins."

"Really? Do you see many demons in the mountains?"

"Plenty."

"Red demons?"

"Kindling."

"Black demons?"

"Charcoal."

_"Yellow_ demons?"

"No such thing."

"Clever. Fine, go naked if you so desire. That should make it interesting."

"Is there a reason why we're leaving early?" Raziel asked, exasperated.

"Why not? As you well know, Vorador isn't going to get up and find his own head."

"Please be serious for a minute. Who else is coming?"

"My son Byron and four hell-hounds: Malek, Hale, Thrall, and Duke. He's getting them ready."

Despite the dauntless banter, Raziel felt uneasy about proceeding through the demon infested swamp with only Kain, four dogs, and one of his unruly sons. With the wraith blade he could handle three to four common demons on his own or two reds, depending on terrain, but with ordinary weapons those numbers would be cut in half. He needn't worry about Kain, of course. The Soul Reaver would cut through them like soup. "What about the rest of your men?"

"As punishment for their behavior, they're staying behind to prepare the manor for Vorador's return."

Raziel raised his eyebrows. Admittedly, this was not the first time Kain heeded his advice, but it had been a long time. Kain glanced at him. He sighed softly, "You're right. I hate them, too."

"Then why do you allow them to treat you so blithely?"

Kain began to look uncomfortable. It was hard to notice, but Raziel saw it glaring like the sun in the wrinkles of his brow and subtle twitch of his nostrils. "A hundred years ago, I was the only vampire in Nosgoth. I have no sire. Mortanius, Guardian of Death, used his dark magic to raise me from the dead and steal away my humanity." He touched his chest, the scar from his impalement still present. "Vorador took me under his wing, but our alliance ended abruptly before he could teach me his secrets. Everything I have made, I have made alone, by discovery or using whatever scraps of guidance I could unearth from Vorador's half-ruined journals. I restored this place with my own two hands."

This was all old information to Raziel, yet he seemed to be hearing it for the first time. Somewhere in the whirlwind of vengeance and despair he had forgotten why he served Kain loyally for a thousand years. Kain had tested him mercilessly when he was young, had punished him in ways so horrible that he still flinched at the memories, and each time after all his pain and anger subsided he would return always to his master, humbled and proud. He needed leadership then, but Kain was self-made, self-evident. He wanted to be like him.

Over time, he learned that Kain was not as consummate as he appeared. He had been born a nobleman, his fortune handed to him on the day of his birth, blessed to live a life of carefree adventures and over-indulgence. All that changed when Mortanius raised him. Kain suddenly found himself re-born into an alien existence where he owned nothing, was nothing, and knew _nothing._ Ordinary men would succumb to an early defeat, but Kain! How far he had risen! And almost entirely on his own. It took him centuries to accept that Kain was capable of mistakes because his accomplishments dwarfed his failures like mountains to pebbles. But even pebbles can tower over mountains, if you have enough of them.

Raziel blinked, blinded by a stupefyingly simple revelation that this Kain was lost, stumbling around in the dark, grabbing desperately at any footholds he could find. That in an earlier timeline this vampire managed to found an empire without Vorador's continued guidance was purely astonishing. If the elder Kain was in any way improved by Vorador's tutelage, he had not seen it. He suddenly felt as though he had missed a lot of things that should have been obvious. Maybe the only reason he allowed his men to behave the way they did was because he had worked so hard to make them his that he was afraid of losing what he had, that he might not be able to get it back. Kain, afraid?

If he had any air in his lungs that single thought would have knocked the wind out of him.

Perhaps he had been too hard on this Kain. Or just hard enough. Whatever the case, he allowed the issue to drop there. It was not his responsibility to raise him.

Nor was it Vorador's responsibility to rescue Janos. That was - had always been - Raziel's responsibility. Telling Vorador what became of Janos would surely take him away from Kain, possibly forever. Raziel could not do that to him.

They found Byron in the courtyard fitting the hell-hounds with armor unambiguously fashioned from demon hide. The demon hide armor Kain wore was impressive, as was the set worn by Byron, but seeing it on a dog was more-so. Fashioning functional armor for a beast with four legs required more creativity than he thought his maker capable of. The young Kain clearly had a gift for crafting armor. Or maybe he simply struggled enough to eliminate the things he should not do.

Demon hide was tough, lighter than steel but less durable, too. Though it provided near immaculate protection from flame and chemical burns it could be pierced by sword or crossbow, with enough force. Kain had re-enforced the hell-hounds' armor with padding. The dogs paced around Byron and Kain, wagging their stubby tails and barking excitedly. They seemed to know what the armor meant.

While he was suiting up, Kain had asked again if he wanted armor for the trip. Raziel declined. It would have been impossible to fit the breast plate over his wings. Although he had successfully disguised them as a cape using _beguile_, they were still there. Besides, as a wraith he had grown accustomed to fighting unencumbered. Even light armor would throw him off.

Byron seemed to be having some trouble getting the armor on the dogs. More specifically, he had trouble convincing them to stand still. With a single command Kain made Byron look like a fool. Malek faced his master and stood obediently. Kain left Byron to attach the armor while he got the rest of his dogs under control.

The atmosphere in the courtyard tasted electric. Drawing his twin falcatas, Raziel distanced himself from Kain and the dogs and shadowboxed in the courtyard. He danced through the different positions, effortlessly falling into the rhythm of the swords. During the time of the empire, after Kain's armies had obliterated the last free human settlements and pushed Nosgoth's demons to the fringes, Raziel had passed the mundane centuries familiarizing himself with a variety of weapons and fighting styles. Dual wielding short-swords was one of his favorite fighting styles, for it required deft concentration and finesse, making every dual a challenge from which he never tired. He almost didn't notice Kain watching him. "Eager, Azrael?"

Raziel did not let Kain distract him. Even before his execution, there was still some part of him that expected to be hurled into a life and death struggle on a moment's notice because of Kain's training. Unlike Kain, who as far as he knew trained only with the Soul Reaver, he had always been driven to expand his set of skills, to be prepared for any situation. He would be lying if he said he was not at least partially motivated by fear - fear that Kain had put into him, but his fear was measured and it saved him more times than he could count.

He went through his routine several times before the hell-hounds were prepared. Putting away his falcatas, he followed Kain and Byron out the gate of Vorador's manor. The hell-hounds bounded ahead of them, sniffing the moist earth, listening, never straying too far from their master, who reigned them in with clicks and whistles.

Termogent swarmed with life. Crickets chirped and Raziel's blood sang. The cool, slightly humid air tasted thick in his nostrils. Somewhere, something massive and infernal lumbered through the trees, too distant to see and still near enough to send a tickle down his spine. Although his disguise shackled him to the ground he felt indescribably happy to be back in his body and alive, so happy that if he allowed himself to smile Kain and Byron would have thought him insane. He kept his happiness from them, a private pleasure.

He was not sure what brought on this sudden feeling. Excitement at finally moving towards his goal? The infectious exuberance of Kain's hell-hounds? Feeling the cool air on his lips and tongue? The fresh, startling hope that Kain might be capable of redemption after all?

In a land so wracked with tragedies and poetic injustice, it paid to notice that rare occasion when one is happy.


	13. Corrupted Earth

Raziel had forgotten what good company Kain could be; though deeply flawed, his sire knew how to interact with all kinds of people, when he felt willing.

The party had left the swamp and yet to see any demons, though they passed footprints and other signs. Perhaps the Soul Reaver or the barking of Kain's hell-hound kept the demons at bay. As they entered Termogent forest a pale twilight crept over the lush trees, cascading dappled light over the forest floor through the leaves.

Always happy to tell a story, Kain provided the entertainment as they trekked, "After the Pillars' collapse Moebius's crusaders hounded me for years. I had a bounty on my head in every city and town in Nosgoth. The only sensible thing was to lie low for a while. Naturally, I needed capital. I traveled to my parents' home in Coorhagen to collect my family fortune. You see my father was quite frail, my mother dead, and I had only two living brothers, Jonathan and Isaac, and a single, bastard son, Caleb. Jonathan was the younger, a gullible dilettante and womanizer. I forced my feeble minded father to leave his entire fortune to Jonathan in his will and used Jonathan's inheritance to engineer his marriage into a wealthy family, granting me all the money I required to finance my endeavors from the shadows while I waited for the smoke to clear.

"Isaac quickly became a thorn in my side. He was rightfully suspicious that our father handed over his entire fortune to our miserable excuse for a brother without leaving him a penny. Oh, he was eager to rat out Jonathan and I, but I knew how to keep him under my thumb. I tolerated him for a year, simply to keep up appearances, then poisoned him with hemlock and made it appear that his wife had done the deed. The scandal kept Coorhagen distracted for years.

"Caleb was easily swayed to my side with the promise of money. He was a bitter, greedy drunkard, the son of a prostitute, hardly worth more than the clothes on his back, but he inherited my silver tongue and his mother's street smarts. All he needed to use them was motivation and a little guidance. No one knew he was my son, making him the perfect errand boy where Jonathan would not suffice. In this way I rebuilt Vorador's mansion in secret. Jonathan and his laze-about friends had collected extensive information on Nosgoth's myths and legends. Though I once thought this information useless, I was able to use it to discover the ruins left by the Ancients, where I learned their methods of turning humans into vampires."

"What became of Caleb and Jonathan?" Raziel asked, curious. He had not heard this story before.

Kain had no reason to lie. "Caleb bore a grudge against me. He also knew a great deal about my plans, so I destroyed him to prevent him from turning against me, as he would have once I stopped feeding his drinking habit. As for Jonathan, I presume he lived a long and happy life doing absolutely nothing."

Earlier hopes poisoned, Raziel made a note of Caleb's fate. Kain's penchant for filicide apparently started early. It was a chilling but necessary reminder not to let his nostalgia for the younger Kain interfere when he confronted his master again in the future. The elder Kain would not hesitate to kill him.

"Did you come from a noble family, Azrael?" Kain asked.

Raziel shook his head. Truthfully, he lacked the faintest idea about the human Raziel's pedigree. The fine armor worn by his Sarafan self seemed to indicate wealth, but Raziel did not care to give the matter more thought than it deserved. _Mors tua, vita mea._

"How fortunate for you. I tell you, Azrael, I despise the humans' love of gold. It divides bloodlines, breeds distrust, and gives the most despicable people unearned power. Loyalty and respect cannot be bartered off - they must be earned. Look upon the Soul Reaver." He gestured at the blade mounted on his back. "The most powerful weapon in all of Nosgoth. I fought my way through heaven and hell to obtain it and no one can take away my triumph. Had I failed, it would have meant my death. My worth was tested and rewarded."

"So you believe the Soul Reaver grants you sovereignty."

"Precisely. If anyone pries this sword from my cold, dead fingers, let him be king; he has earned the right. I envision a meritocracy where one's worth is measured in deeds rather than coins. There will be no artificial currency, only trade. Everyone will start out in the same place, on the bottom. I shall keep the weaklings as slaves and cattle. If they prove themselves worthy, only then will I bless them with the dark gift. Might makes right."

Raziel withheld his criticism. Although he agreed in principal, centuries of enslavement beneath his Benefactor forced him to look upon those weaker than himself with shades of sympathy, no matter how illogical it seemed, yet he could not begin to put into words how he would govern more fairly.

"Are you ready to have some fun, Azrael?" Kain said, waking him from his thoughts. He knew the look on Kain's face well. This was not merely about 'fun.' Kain wanted to test him. Without waiting for a reply, Kain gave a signal that sent the hell-hounds running through the woods as a pack. Byron loaded his cross-bow.

The three of them followed the hell-hounds on foot. As the wind licked his ebony bangs Raziel longed to unfurl his wings and take to the sky for a better view of the action. He could only bear this temptation for a short time. Unable to fly, he took the next best course by leaping up the side of a large tree. He scrambled up the trunk like a lizard and leapt to the next nearest tree. This slowed him down at first, but within seconds he was leaping from tree to tree and on and on, not quite flying but falling with style.

Ahead of the others, Raziel arrived at the edge of the clearing. The wind carried the scent of human blood. Hanging from his perch, he looked over what had once been some sort of human encampment situated at the base of a cliff. Along with the expected human remains scattered around there were some cages on wheels on the far side of the camp. There appeared to be something inside, but before Raziel could make out what his eyes were caught by the battle below.

Two hulking green demons backpedaled around the campsite, trying to avoid the snapping jaws of Kain's hell-hounds. Their throats inflated threateningly. Raziel knew these demons well. He had fought them both as a wraith and as a vampire during Kain's early conquest of Nosgoth, when Kain's vampire armies drove them into the wilderness far from the heart of the empire. They shielded themselves with their sword-arms, made of a sturdy carnitine-like material that grew and repaired itself like fingernails. Their flesh was tough and scaly like crocodiles and covered in pale pink battle scars. Yellow, corroded teeth protruded from their over-sized jaws, and their roars filled the air with the stench of rotten flesh.

Raziel marveled at the tactics of Kain's hell-hounds. Rather than trying to take on one demon all together, without any input from their master, the hounds split into groups and attempted to divide the demons from one another. Keeping just out of range of the green demons' sword-arms, they circled their slow prey and lunged at their heels, driving them apart and forcing them against the cliff wall.

Drawing his twin falcatas, Raziel selected a target and leapt from his perch. As he charged toward the demon it suddenly knocked Kain's hell-hound aside with the blunt of its sword-arm and turned its grotesque head toward him, throat sack fully engorged. The sack gurgled like boiling water. Recognizing this sound, Raziel leapt to the side as its throat sack contracted and the demon opened its mouth, spewing out a stream of violet acid in a long arch. The ground sizzled on contact with the thick sludge.

Now the advantage belonged to Raziel. There would be a thirty second window when he could rush in close and attack while the green demon's acid sack filled again.

However, the demon was far from defenseless. It crouched and crossed its sword-arms over itself like a shield, blocking his attacks. These natural blades were light and sturdy and _WHAMPed_ when he hit them with his sword. He only managed to dent them.

He flanked it quickly and slashed at its exposed side beneath the armor plating on its back. He jabbed his short falcata into the fresh wound and the demon roared in pain. Roaring, it stood and swung its sword-arm while Raziel ducked and slashed at its exposed belly. While he was attacking, he noticed Kain's dog racing back to the fray. It leapt at the demon's heels, tearing at them with its teeth. Raziel took advantage of the distraction to puncture its lung. He knew better than to aim for the throat at close range; the acid sack had a nasty tendency to explode.

Suddenly, Raziel sensed the other demon charging toward him. He spun, blocking the demon's blades, but it struck again and knocked him back with tremendous force. Instinctively he threw his weight to the side, transferring his momentum into a back flip and landing firmly on his feet just as the demon's throat began to gurgle. He prepared to dodge, when -

_Skreeeeeeeeeeeee!_

The Soul Reaver's phantom scream sent a chill through his soul. Fear crushed his ribs as he saw himself on his knees in the Sanctuary of the Clans, his body reduced to a blue corpse, as the elder Kain raised the shrieking blade over his head, prepared to obliterate him. As the Soul Reaver came crashing down the entire Sanctuary shuddered as if wounded and Kain's legendary sword exploded, shattered by the paradox.

"Vae victis!" A much younger version of Kain charged toward him from the periphery of his vision, the Soul Reaver dawn, eyes gleaming with malevolence. Raziel blinked, clearing his sight. Startled by the younger Kain's charge, he leapt backwards prematurely as the Soul Reaver sliced through the arm of the unsuspecting demon with a clean cut. The eyes of the blade blazed with fox-fire.

Inside the Soul Reaver, Raziel's twin soul shrieked mirthfully. It was the first time he had seen the Soul Reaver used in battle with full knowledge of what it was and how it came to be. The beautiful irony of witnessing his own soul in combat with Kain - his right hand, his _sword_ - swept through him and he could almost feel his soul crying out in harmony with its confined twin. This could hardly come at a worse time.

Acid spewed from the demon's mouth in a wide arch as it reeled from the Soul Reaver's devastating attack. Alarmed, Raziel scrambled to escape the corrosive shower.

Disoriented by the sudden loss of its limb, the demon hobbled away and spun around, swinging its remaining sword-arm at Kain. The sword-arm collided with the twisted blade of the Soul Reaver and the eyes of the sword flamed while Kain grinned ignorantly. Enraged, Raziel leapt at the demon, slashing at its exposed side. He backpedaled, having gained the demon's ire, while Kain lunged with another attack. Without meaning to, without even being aware of what was happening, Raziel fell in line with Kain's rhythm, attacking and retreating in a concert of blows that soon brought the demon to its knees.

Raziel was little more than a distraction. The Soul Reaver cleaved the demon's tough skin with little resistance. When the demon collasped from a combination of wounds and exhaustion, Kain ran it through with the Soul Reaver. Lightning coursed along the length of the blade as it devastatingly tore the soul from the demon's flesh, blasting a hole through it's chest in the process. As Kain pulled the sword free the demon fell forward, as dead as it was possible to be.

The eyes of the Soul Reaver shed licks of cold blue flame. A low hiss emanated from the mouth of the blade. Raziel stepped back. Did his twin soul sense him now that it was aroused?

Again he felt the phantom pains of the wraith blade humming through his right arm. He longed to feel its companionship again and it angered him beyond words to see Kain using it so irreverently, as if it was nothing more than his favorite toy, an inanimate object. Raziel took a deep breath. He could not allow himself to succumb to emotions.

Averting his eyes, he turned away and spotted the other demon lying on the ground several feet away, having been finished off by Byron and Kain's dogs. Bolts stuck out from its chest and head. Despite its many wounds, its breathing was weak and raspy. Raziel headed toward it.

He placed his foot against its shoulder and rolled it onto its back. The demon responded with an angry gurgle. He heard Byron quickly load his crossbow. "It's quite safe," Raziel called, tightly composed. "I've punctured its lungs. It's suffocating."

Byron took aim at the demon's head. "Say the word."

"At ease," Kain said, placing his hand on Byron's arm. "Let's see if he knows what he's doing."

Raziel straddled the demon, careful not to sit on its stomach. Although the mouth was pointed away from him he would feel better with someone to keep it still. "Byron, come here. I need you to hold the head down."

Byron cast a reluctant look at his sire before joining Raziel and pinning the demon's head with his knee. He shuffled positions nervously, avoiding a direct look at its grizzly teeth and cringing at its foul breath. "Hate these things..."

Raziel compressed telekenetic energy into the palms of his hands. The air pressure became so dense that it almost felt solid. He pressed his hands to the demon's chest and released the blast. The demon's hole body jumped a fraction of an inch and an ounce of purple acid splashed from its mouth and burned the earth. The shockwave had shattered its ribs. It groaned weakly as its breathing became frightened and erratic. Wasting no time, Raziel drew his small falcata and deftly sliced open the demon's chest. Reaching deep inside, his hands slid past the failing lungs and grabbed hold of the still beating heart. He licked his lips.

It had been too long since the last time he enjoyed a filling meal. His pickings were scarce in Nosgoth's present, for the Melchiahim slaves he hunted were poor of health and few in number, and he found the condition of Kain's dining hall utterly repellent. This, however, was a delicacy.

His hands clamped around major arteries. The muscle was tough and resisted his attempts to tear it. Kain appeared in front of him with a knife, startling him. Without saying a word, he pushed aside the undesired organs and used his knife to cut through the tough muscle. Raziel carefully lifted the heart from its prison. It was larger than his head. He put his mouth to the major artery and swooned as the thick demon blood gushed over his tongue.

Much hotter than human blood, the liquid tingled on the way down and caused his pale skin to flush dramatically and warm several degrees. He gulped down whole mouthfuls until the blood began to trickle away. As the heart ran dry Raziel opened his mouth with a hot gasp. That was intoxicating. It effectively took his mind off the wraith blade. He bit into the muscle and sucked the last of the blood from the heart's capillaries.

"Azrael you continue to surprise me," Kain said, deeply amused. Raziel ignored him for the moment. He needed to savor this.

"I couldn't very well drink that sludge you called blood. This is finger food." Demon blood stayed fresh longer than human blood. While this made them especially difficult to kill, their blood was ten times richer than any other creature in Nosgoth. It was also slightly toxic. Humans became deathly ill from eating it. Most animals knew better than to taste it. Kain's dogs had developed a tolerance for demon blood through exposure and breeding, but even they only sniffed the carcasses with caution. The effects of the toxin on vampires were negligible, mild cognitive impairment and light-headedness similar to the human equivalent of alcohol. Drinking demon blood from such a rich source only increased the effect.

...

Dawn saw them on the move again. They only lingered in the camp long enough for Kain and Byron to patch up the hell-hounds while Raziel searched the debris for anything of use. The cages Raziel spotted earlier bore teeth marks from the demons, as if they had been trying to reach the creatures inside. One had been knocked onto its side.

Inside lay a creature with pale, pink flesh and sparse patches of hair covering its head and lower regions. With the Pillars standing it could have been human, but the Pillars had crumbled over a century ago, so it was something else. Lumps of flesh peaked through its hair, its teeth were jagged and jutted in all directions, with many limbs the wrong length and wrong number, and its eyes bulged out as if its brain put tremendous pressure on its tiny, malformed skull. He regarded it with pity. At least it was dead.

The other cages contained other mutant bodies. One looked to have been a bear; or rather, its mother and father might have been bears. From the moment when the gnarled nostrils of this monstrosity drew their first breath, this thing was not a bear. The other two cages contained mutants so transgressed that he could not guess what bodies they should have been born into.

Raziel felt glad he had decided to sate his thirst with demon blood before he investigated these cages. It helped. Mutants such as these were still born to human slaves in Nosgoth up until the restoration of the Pillars. Captain Alexander, one of his Razielim sons, kept track of these births and dealt with them appropriately. Having no memory of a time before the Pillars' corruption, Raziel had thought little of it. Such things happened. His new understanding caused him to view these abominations with a bitter mix of disgust and remorse.

As the sky turned blue they stopped to let the dogs drink at a stream and rest. Sitting up in the branches of a tree, Raziel rolled a seedpod between his claws and watched the clouds roll past while the robins sang and Kain and Byron chatted idly below. During this age Nosgoth's sun blazed so brightly that Raziel sometimes needed to squint. His discomfort hardly affected his appreciation of this scene. Everything was beautiful. Only the Pillars were missing.

It was quite the opposite of Nosgoth in the present, when the Pillars towered over Nosgoth's wasteland like an ornate tombstone, a stunning monument to a dead world. Here, in Nosgoth's past, the broken and corrupted husks of the Pillars were harbingers of things to come. The corruption was already seeping through the land, creating mutants and opening the way for demons to cross into Nosgoth. He pried open the seedpod with his claws and frowned at the deformed, dried out seeds. Only two looked healthy. Green on the surface, corrupt beneath. He leaned his head back against the branch and closed his eyes in thought.

There had to be something more going on here. The corruption was present, yet Nosgoth endured with vitality and abundance. Not until his vampiric re-birth four hundred years from now would the land truly be transformed. If not profoundly changed, Nosgoth's ecosystems would remain more or less intact until Kain erected the smokestacks. That would mean it took two thousand years for Nosgoth to suffer the full affects of the Pillars' corruption. Would the same be true in the present? How long would it take for Nosgoth to be restored?

Destroying the smokestacks was key. The elder Kain had already seen to that. Now the remains of the shattered Reaver waited for Vorador in the Oracle's Cave, eons before their time. He knew that the elder Kain would not trust him enough to accomplish the task he had set for himself. This was not about giving up the Soul Reaver, it was about Kain's ambition and right to rule. Kain would never surrender that unless he was forced.

"Azrael! Come on, we're moving."

Raziel opened his eyes. Standing at the roots of the tree, the young Kain looked up at him with his son, Byron, and the dogs. Raziel glanced at the seed pod in his hand and let it fall to the ground before coming down from his branch.


	14. Agents of the Elder God

Sitting on a fallen log, Raziel dragged a coarse stone along the edge of his large falcatta. He turned the sword and inspected the edge in the dusky light. Not far away Byron was kneeling on the ground, making adjustments to his crossbow. Kain's hounds piled on top of each other for warmth. The ground sloped away toward the shore of the Great Southern Lake. Its still, glassy waters reflected the dying light of day and the stone walls of the city of Damesees, the former capital of Nosgoth, home of the Sarafan and meeting place of the Circle of Nine. Now the city was in decline, scavenging off the corpse of its former glory.

Since Kain slaughtered the Circle a century ago, the city had been ruled by the remnants of Moebius's crusader army, called the Army of Damesees, built from mercenaries, criminals, and petty 'volunteers.' Nosgoth was now split between four factions warring for supremacy: Damesees, Meridian to the south, Williamdorf to the south east, and against them all, the disorganized hordes of demons that terrorized Nosgoth like roaming barbarians. Raziel knew this from the history books he read as a young vampire. The civil war had trudged on for almost a century, interrupted by demon raids and devastating plagues, which would become commonplace in Nosgoth's future, and was now limping toward a close. Meridian would arise victorious, becoming the new capital of Nosgoth for nearly five hundred years, until Kain's armies burned it to the ground. Looking down on history from the perspective of a Time Streamer, it all seemed so petty.

Kain's books had little to say about Damesees after the war. By the time Raziel was raised the city would be in ruins. Centuries from now, a massive earthquake would send the Stronghold collapsing into the lake. At what point Kain lost access to the Stronghold - and Vorador's remains - Raziel did not know. He felt anxious to rescue Vorador as soon as possible.

"You're quiet," Byron said conversationally.

Shrugging, Raziel stood and sheathed his sword.

"Nervous?"

He gave Byron an annoyed look and shook his head. Of course he was nervous. He scanned the crimson sky, searching for Kain's flock. Damesees was contested territory. However, Kain had no interest in participating in this war. He barely kept track of who was winning. His plan was to simply bide his time, growing his bloodline in the shadows while the humans tore out their own throats. Before they infiltrated the city, Kain needed to scout the area for trouble.

Byron struck a match. Raziel saw him standing with his back turned to Damesees, smoking something out of a long wooden pipe. He offered the pipe to Raziel but he politely shook his head. This seemed like an odd time for smoking. Raziel always thought of it as a social activity, not something to do before battle.

For some reason the silence began to feel uncomfortable. He searched Byron, trying to find something to say. "Why a crossbow?"

"S'what I'm best at. I used to be an archer in the Army of Damesees, fought in the civil war. One day a group of us was patrolling out near Termogent when we was ambushed by a horde of demons. Next thing I knew, my so-called 'friends' turned tail and ran. I barely survived on my own. Once I was out of danger I tried to limp back to Damesees on foot, but it was getting dark fast and I couldn't make it. I was on the edge of death when Kain found me."

"And he saved you out of the kindness of his heart."

Byron smirked, amused. "Something like that," he joked. He finished his smoke and tapped out the pipe. "Ever used a bow before?"

Raziel shook his head.

"Want to give it a try?"

Raziel never had any interest in ranged weapons. They were bulky, required a finite supply of ammunition, made it difficult to use his strength and speed to the fullest advantage, and became utterly useless at close range. There was also something impersonal about them that he didn't like; the idea that one could crouch on a branch in a tree and kill his foe unseen with a single shot through the head or heart sounded too much like an execution. While he thoroughly understood the need to destroy a target quickly he preferred to get his claws dirty, to make himself part of the experience, fully conscious of the life seeping through his fingers. Killing felt honest that way. Distancing himself from the process seemed cowardly and even disrespectful. He firmly believed that killing someone without looking them in the eyes robbed that person of something.

On the other hand, he respected a talented archer as much as any swordsman. Achieving a level of artistry in any skill was something to be admired. Besides, he was too restless to continue sitting on a log while they waited for Kain. "Alright. My hands may not be any good for it."

Byron showed him how to hold it. To his surprise, his large cloven fingers did not confer as much of a disadvantage as he expected. Once he understood how to use it Byron picked up a pine cone and set it on the log for target practice. Raziel took aim and fired. The bolt whizzed to the left and buried itself in the wood.

"Oh." Byron smiled, mocking. "Want to try again?"

"Of course I want to try again. Hand me another bolt." He promptly loaded the crossbow and took aim. While he was proficient with spears, throwing knives and axes, these weapons gave him more control over their speed and trajectory than the crossbow, which disappointingly did all the work for him. He adjusted his aim using his first shot as a guide. This time the bolt hit dead center. The pine cone flew off the log and smacked into the leaf litter.

Byron allowed him to take a few more shots with the crossbow. He didn't want to risk ruining too many bolts. It was entertaining for a while, but Raziel was beginning to worry.

The first stars were coming out. Raziel anxiously scanned the sky while Byron sat on the end of the log smoking his pipe. More than twenty minutes had passed. What was taking so long?

Raziel breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spotted a black mass approaching from across the lake. As the beating of their wings grew louder the dogs lifted their heads and stood in expectation of their master. The flock dove for the ground and the young Kain materialized from the swarm. He looked agitated. "There's a horde of demons approaching from the east. It's obviously a raid. They'll be at Damesees in a few hours."

Byron lifted his eyebrows. "That's not good. Once Damesees sees the attack they'll lock down the Stronghold with a magical barrier." He stood and emptied his pipe, returning it to his pocket. "We better get in there quick. There won't be much time."

Kain stood facing away from them, arms folded. The Great Southern Lake reflected the Stronghold, slowly dimming as night encroached. Raziel stood in front of him. "If you can get through the city, I can get you into the Stronghold. I know an old way inside."

Kain studied him critically with a weary expression. Now Raziel saw with certainty that Kain had attempted this many times after all, perhaps even at personal cost. His eyes hardened. "One hour. If the gates are not open by then, we're leaving without you."

Raziel nodded. "Understood."

"Take the dogs, Byron - I'm going on ahead. We'll meet up outside the Stronghold." With that Kain's body blackened and split into dozens of shrieking, flapping bats. They swarmed toward the city walls. Byron glanced at Raziel.

"Coming with me, Azrael?"

"No, I'm going a different way. Hurry."

"You'll find the sorcerers in the chapel tower. Kill them to destroy the barrier. Good luck to you." Byron whistled for Kain's hounds. He sprinted toward the Stronghold on foot with the dogs close behind. Though Byron knew Damesees well, with the city on high alert Raziel feared the young vampire would have difficulty reaching the Stronghold. He hoped Kain could clear a path for him.

Out of sight, Raziel unfurled his wings and stretched them to their fullest. Their webbed fingers spread wide, trembling at the edges. Cool rich blood flowed to parched and forgotten muscles, invigorating them. As he flapped a few strands of ebony hair came loose from his braid and brushed across his face. The grass waved and loose leaves scattered onto the water. He cracked his neck and clicked his jaw and stretched his arms high above his head as his spine tingled in pleasure.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and took a deep breath to steel himself. In this time his Benefactor still lived in the Underworld. Since the ruined Pillars here prevented him from looking into the future, he needed to have faith that he would succeed in his task undetected.

(~ As he spread his arms apart the lake began to distort. Green beads of light peeled from his flesh as his physical body sank into the Spectral Realm. Reflections in the water vanished as the liquid turned to insubstantial shadow. The world darkened, turning icy cold, and the Sarafan Stronghold in the distance stretched and warped like melting wax. All light faded from the sky. Without clouds to blot out the sky, the stars blazed like a billion suns. Everything became bathed in a blue-green light. Raziel leapt into the air.

The surface did not stir as he dove into the lake. Here in the Spectral Realm, water stood as thin as air. Packs of sluagh, the troll-like soul scavengers of the underworld, shrieked and scattered as he flew past like mice fleeing a hawk, but they had nothing to fear from him now. The hunger for souls had left him.

Pins and needles tingled at the tips of his wings as he flew over the lake bottom. The nature of his relationship to the Spectral Realm had changed much since his resurrection. Once in the Spectral Realm, he no longer required a conduit to return to the Material. He could shift between the realms with uncanny fluidity, so much so that he wondered if he might one day be able to do it in the midst of battle. More importantly, he could carry physical objects with him and even use them in the Spectral Realm. These benefits came with a cost, however. Remaining in the Spectral Realm for too long depleted his strength and caused him great pain. He needed to move through this realm quickly in order to enter the Stronghold.

Raziel landed gracefully on the bottom, in the deepest part of the Great Southern Lake, and paused to survey his surroundings. He wrapped his arms snugly around his chest for warmth and walked towards a gaping hole in the center of the lake. This hole was not present in the Material Realm, but the spot was marked by a ruin bearing the mark of his Benefactor.

When he first devised this plan to bring the shattered Soul Reaver to Vorador for repair, he had not counted on venturing into the den of that Fiend. Raziel peered into the pit, steely eyed. He hoped his theory about his Benefactor's blindness would hold true.

The best way to conquer fear is to charge headlong into terror. Taking a deep breath, Raziel jumped over the ledge. As he fell he angled his body downward and spread his wings, gliding to the bottom.

More than a hundred feet down Raziel glided into a subterranean chamber resembling the ones he discovered beneath the Oracle's Cave and the Pillars of Nosgoth. This natural cavern was flooded, like most of his Benefactor's chambers. For some reason It seemed to thrive in water, although given his knowledge about water in the Spectral Realm, he could not imagine the benefit. He landed on a large pillar of rock jutting out of the water and looked around. There was no sign of his Benefactor. Raziel felt profoundly unsettled.

Something was wrong. This chamber should be crawling with the multitude of his Benefactor, thick green tentacles and countless hourglass eyes. A chilling possibility revealed itself to him. What if killing his Benefactor in the present destroyed It for all time? Was history in this time period as unstable as in Nosgoth's present?

If true, this revelation threw all his plans into jeopardy. Vorador was not the only one at stake. Unwittingly he had led Kain into a situation where the young vampire was forced between soldiers and demon hunters on one side and an army of demons on the other. With his Benefactor dead, there was nothing to hold the Wheel steady. Kain could be killed before his time. Nosgoth's entire future could be in danger.

And the Hylden. Of course they would be aware of this. Weren't they always one step ahead of Kain and he? With the Pillars in ruins the barrier between Nosgoth and the Demon Realm was thin as tissue. There could already be Hylden-possessed humans in the Stronghold - or worse - waiting to destroy the young Kain and all of Nosgoth's hopes for redemption.

Raziel's stomach clenched and he thought he might vomit. Had he stumbled into yet another trap laid by their adversaries? Was the elder Kain right all along, as he always seemed to be?

_No._ He could not succumb to fear and despair now, so near to his goal. Swallowing his bile, Raziel flung himself from his perch and flew through the chamber. There should be a secret passage leading to the Stronghold's dungeons down this way.

The pins and needles feeling spread over his wings and to his wrists and ankles. A dim fog settled over his mind. It was harder to think, harder to focus, but not debilitatingly so. Time moved differently in the Spectral Realm. In order to disable the sorcerers controlling the Stronghold's barrier in time to meet Kain at the front gate he needed to take the fullest advantage of the Spectral Realm's unusual temporal distortion, even if it meant his peril.

Flying over the shadow-water was much easier than the path he took as a wraith, which involved leaping and gliding from one stone platform to the next, and if his aim failed him he found himself forced to return to the start, for the subterranean lake inexplicably deepened as he neared the exit, making his progression ridiculously inefficient. It was as if this chamber was designed to infuriate him.

He arrived at the stairwell in a matter of minutes. The stairs were carved out of the rock itself and ascended through the earth toward the dungeons in the lower levels of the Stronghold. This portion of the chamber closely resembled the diving room hidden in the Oracle's Cave, including a shrine to their mutual Benefactor and another one of Moebius's divining cauldrons. Raziel landed and folded his wings. He could proceed on foot from here. This was fortunate, for as the numbness radiated through his wings flying became increasingly difficult.

As he made his way toward the stairs he paused to examine the diving cauldron. Even in the Spectral Realm he could see that it was empty of water. If he returned to the Material Realm, he could fill it with water and get a better glimpse of the time stream at this point in history. However, with only one hour to disable the sorcerers and open the gates to the Stronghold, he could not afford to waste precious minutes divining. He was still a novice time streamer.

This was not his Benefactor's only lair near the Great Southern Lake. There were other, deeper chambers beneath the lake itself where It lurked like a spider in a web and gorged on hapless souls.

No longer obsessed with revenge or escaping his fated rendezvous with the Reaver, Raziel began to wonder. The Oracle's Cave, the Pillars of Nosgoth, the Vampire Citadel, and the Sarafan Stronghold; were these edifices, so central to Nosgoth's history, intentionally built near his Benefactor's seats of power? Why?

Coincidence no longer seemed a sufficient explanation. The locations of his Benefactor's lairs, their association with the Ancients and Time Streamers past suggested that that Parasite had been doing more than stabilizing the Wheel of Fate; It had been actively manipulating history. Just how much power did that Thing have?

A clacking, scratching sound alerted him that he was not alone. He spun around, drawing his twin falcatas from their sheaths at his hips. What he saw made him freeze.

It was an archon dreadnaught, an agent of his Benefactor, as he had once been. Unlike the feral sluagh and common vampire wraiths his Benefactor once sent him to exterminate, the archons fed their Benefactor with the souls they devoured, having formed a symbiotic relationship with It. Once he escaped from his Benefactor's prison in the Underworld, It sent these creatures after him in the Spectral Realm in a final attempt to prevent him from altering his destiny. They were formidable foes even when he was armed with the wraith blade.

Crouching in the stairwell, the tick-like dreadnaught studied him with its many glowing eyes. Its blue mandibles rubbed together, dripping a sticky green liquid. It seemed to be studying him. Raziel took a small step backward. All of the other spectral fauna he encountered since his resurrection treated him as a foreign entity. They fled from his approach and did not attack him as they had when he was a wraith. This archon was behaving differently. It stared at him - _thinking._

The dreadnaught scuttled toward him on stilt legs tipped in spears. The joints of its rough carapace clicked and rubbed together. Raziel took another step backward, but the dreadnaught matched him move for move. It stopped, cocked its head to one side with a loud crack, and hissed, spraying drool. Suddenly, it lunged.

Raziel deflected its claw with a flurry of steel. The twin falcatas shed sparks as they struck the dreadnaught's hard carapace. The dreadnaught circled him slowly, unfazed, blocking the path of retreat, and let out a high pitched scream.

As his Benefactor's renegade agent the archons had always attacked him on sight. When he was out of reach of his Benefactor's tentacles, It sent Its agents after him. This was not aggressive behavior. The dreadnaught was investigating, testing him.

Another dreadnaught crawled out of the shadow-water to his left. It climbed onto land like a crab from the sea and its mouth bubbled with green slime. As the first dreadnaught let out another scream - a call - a third archon scuttled down behind him from the ceiling, moving toward the staircase, trying to block his final exit. Raziel sprinted for the stairs. The dreadnaught leapt from the wall. He threw himself forward, rolling under the dreadnaught. Its spear-like claws slashed at him, catching the back of his leg. He stumbled, blood soaking into his pants. The wound did not hurt, for the numbness was spreading to his knees, but the sight of his own blood, turned black in the Spectral Realm, sent a shock through his heart. Rolling onto his back, he kicked the dreadnaught as hard as he could, smashing its fragile mandibles with the sole of his boot. As it recoiled he scrambled to his feet and ran like hell.

He could hear their stilt legs clacking against the walls behind him. Something heavy and moist slammed into his back. He stumbled, almost tripping, quickly regaining his balance and leaping up a flight. The world spun as he landed, sending him stumbling into a wall. His entire back was going numb and his limbs felt heavy. The clacking grew louder.

His falcatas were only slowing him down and throwing him off balance. He sheathed them quickly and hurled himself up the next flight against his fatigue. He pushed against the wall with his hands to keep himself going, teeth grit, ignoring the protests of his weakening limbs as he charged up the stairs. Something splashed behind him, but he dared not look back. As he rounded another corner he realized the stairwell was getting thinner as he ascended.

He tried to leap up another flight and crashed onto his knees. He heard the dreadnaughts screaming behind him. He tried to open his wings but found them stuck together by the green substance the dreadnaught had spat at him. Crawling on his hands and knees, he scrambled up the flight as the dreadnaughts scuttled behind him. At the top of the flight he threw himself to his feet and sprinted around the corner. He staggered up the next flight, swaying like a drunken sailor, until he finally collapsed half-way up the flight. Behind him he could hear the dreadnaughts scratching furiously at the walls. Their screams filled the hall. Looking over his shoulder, which was splattered in a glowing green slime, he saw the hallway below stuffed with the writhing, crab-like legs of the dreadnaughts as all three of them tried to push through at once. They were trapped.

Raziel slowly got to his feet. The edges of his vision faded to grey, but he shook it off with a scowl. These archons were supposed to be the mindless agents of that Parasite. They possessed no will of their own. He doubted they would expend so much energy pursuing him without _Its_ orders. "Bastard..." he gasped, exhausted. Summoning what little strength he had left, he shouted down at his clever Benefactor, "I think you're losing your touch, old one! Keep sending your minions. The next time you see me, I'll be stabbing you in the heart."

He crossed his arms and concentrated. His muscles strained to pass the veil, but with great effort the Spectral Realm began to recede, drawing back into the shadows. The screams of the archons faded into memory and their talons vanished into air. Cold, black stone stretched and smoothed like clay as the last of the distortion faded, returning him at last to the Material Realm. ~)

Darkness again crept at the edge of his sight. He stumbled slightly and caught himself against the wall, leaning against it while he savored the feeling of circulation returning to his limbs.

Although the green slime spat at him by the dreadnaught had evaporated from his wings upon his return to the Material Realm, he noticed with dismay that his pant leg was still caked with blood. At least the wound had healed.

So his Benefactor was alive after all, at least in this time period. That meant the Wheel of Fate should be stable here. But then why was It still trying to stop him?

As his mind cleared he suddenly realized why he had seen nothing in the chamber below. Even Moebius had never laid eyes upon It while he was alive; only by impaling Moebius's disembodied spirit with the Spirit Reaver did the Time Guardian finally behold the face of the Monster he had so ignorantly served. And as Raziel was no longer a wraith, no longer Its agent, he was now as blind to It as Moebius had once been. The implications were quite unsettling. However, judging by Its rather indirect method of attack, he seemed to be totally beyond Its influence now. That at least was good news.

With his strength returning, Raziel continued up the steps toward the dungeon. He could decide what to do with these revelations later. Right now he needed to destroy the Stronghold's magical barrier and reach Vorador's body with Kain.

* * *

**AN:** Time for a fun-fact! In Soul Reaver, Raziel originally would have been able to pick-up and use the crossbows carried by the vampire hunters. The animation for this was never completed and the crossbows became unusable in the finished game.

Also, for those wondering, Byron is an OC. He and the other vampires Kain turned during this time period are most likely dead by the time of Soul Reaver, as Kain cared much less for them than he did his lieutenants.

One final thing worth mentioning: yes, I did change the means by which Raziel enters the Sarafan Stronghold. Why? Because the way he gets inside in Soul Reaver 2 runs entirely on video game logic that makes no sense.


	15. The Sarafan Stronghold

**AN:** (~ See these pretty squiggles? From now on everything that happens inside these squiggles is happening in the Spectral Realm. ~) There are no special brackets to signify the Material Realm. I'm doing this because there's going to be a lot of shifting going on in this chapter (and others) and this is the easiest way I can think of to avoid confusion. Chapter 10 has been edited to reflect this.

If you still need help understanding the rules of the Spectral Realm, here you go:

1. In the Spectral Realm, Raziel cannot move physical objects (Ex: open doors, pull switches) or pick up physical objects (Ex: books, weapons), _except_ what he is already carrying with him (Ex: his clothes, his falcatas, Moebius's hourglass). However, he can pass through _some_ barriers, such as gates, grates, or bars.

2. Living creatures (ie creatures from the Material Realm) are invisible and insubstantial in the Spectral Realm and cannot interact with Raziel when he is in the Spectral Realm. The only exceptions are other creatures with the shifting ability. These include: demons, other vampires, and some magic users. Some ghosts, such as Ariel, have a limited ability to manifest in the Material Realm but cannot interact with it directly.

3. The Spectral Realm is like a fun-house mirror of the Material Realm. Structures, both natural and man made, are greatly distorted. Sometimes a path that is blocked in the Material Realm will be open in the Spectral Realm or vise versa. Water casts shadows in the Spectral Realm but is basically air. Colors are distorted, too: everything is seen in shades of blue, green, black, and white. Light sources appear much brighter here.

4. Dead things live in the Spectral Realm. Sentient souls, such as those of humans, vampires, and other intelligent races, are the most common residents, followed by animal souls, then the sluagh, who feed off of souls. There are many other soul devouring creatures in the Spectral Realm. Most are feral but a few, such as the dreadnaught archons in the previous chapter, serve the Elder God (AKA Raziel's Benefactor). Most of these creatures are incapable of shifting to the Material Realm, with the notable exception of Raziel.

* * *

There were only two guards watching over the prisoners in the dungeon. News of Kain's infiltration into the city had probably reached the Stronghold by now. If Kain attempted this rescue mission as often as he claimed, Raziel believed the Damesees army knew better than to underestimate him. As usual, he found their defenses woefully incompetent for dealing with a creature that could move between the realms of the living and the dead with the grace of a serpent.

The first guard received a quick death. Creeping up on him from behind, he clasped his cloven hand over the guard's mouth and slipped his falcata between the scales of his armor like a dirty secret. Although he preferred to give his foes a fighting chance, to let them die with honor, he was far from naive about the necessities of war. Woe to the conquered; _vae victis_, as Kain would say. The second guard recieved a more fitting death. Raziel allowed himself to be found, falcatas drawn, standing over the body of his fallen comrade, whom was swiftly on his way to becoming a corpse.

With a flashing and clanging of steel the battle erupted. Raziel spun, knocking the helmet from the guard's head with the hilt of his sword, and sliced open his throat. The guard fell to the ground - but Raziel was not finished with him. No point in letting a good meal go to waste. Besides, he needed all his strength for this endeavor. He sheathed his falcatas lifted the guard's dying body with telekensis. Using his powers, he drew a thick red stream of blood from the guard's fatal wound and arched it into his waiting mouth. Veins bulged from the guard's neck as Raziel drained him of blood. As the stream thinned and the guard's face blanched he tossed the corpse aside like trash.

Licking his lips, he glanced at the prisoners cowering in their cells, citizens of Damesees. He did not expect there to be so many of them. They were deserters, traitors, petty criminals, suspects of witchcraft, and innocent civilians, victims of the paranoia of the times. A faint blue glow surrounded Raziel's claws as he concentrated on the switches on the wall. "You should find confiscated weapons in a room up the stairs to your right. One of these guards will have the key. Please be on your best behavior."

Focusing his powers, he swept his arms upward, flipping all the switches at once. Heavy chains and cranks rattled deep within the walls as the prison doors started to rise. The prisoners yelped and backed away in fright. Once they recovered from their shock, Raziel hoped they would provide a valuable distraction. He made for the exit, leaving the freed prisoners to do as they pleased. On his way to the upper levels he ducked into a storage room and emptied a medium sized potato sack. He closed the empty bag and tied it to his belt with the string. This would come in handy later. Downstairs, he heard the prisoners leaving their cells.

...

The walls of the Stronghold hummed as magical energy cascaded over the windows, a crackling downpour of amethyst and gold. Raziel wondered whether the barrier had been erected in response to Kain's trespassing or the approaching demonic horde. Either way, it was now up to him to dispel this shield.

He had seen barriers like this before. The shield was impassible both in the Spectral and Material Realm, ten times as solid as steel and invulnerable to magic. Although he possessed only an elementary understanding of this sort of magic he surmised that maintaining a barrier of this size must require a tremendous amount of energy and concentration.

Clearly the Stronghold did not expect an attack from within. Using the power stolen from his brother Zephon, Raziel attached himself to the corners of the ceiling and tactfully avoided the patrols, only fighting when necessary. He needed to keep a low profile, for now. Hearing a large patrol coming his way, he leapt onto the ceiling and dug his claws into the arches. In moments a gang of five soldiers ran underneath him, presumably heading for the dungeons in a desperate attempt to keep the freed prisoners contained. Their cumbersome helmets effectively rendered Raziel invisible. He let them pass and dropped down silently.

After dispatching the guards outside the William's Chapel, Raziel inspected the large oaken doors. An iron gate barred his entry from the outside. He reached through the bars and laid his claws upon the beautifully carved wood. A pair of gryphons holding shields stood guard over the passage, no doubt locked from the inside as well. These humans had such a quaint love of doors. While these doors were undoubtedly works of art, they were unfortunately in his way. He concentrated, intending to shatter it. The air pulsed and hummed around his claws.

One does not truly appreciate a thing until it is taken from him. Raziel was about to learn a lesson in the value of clairvoyance. The telekenetic blast backfired, throwing him backward as a wave of pure magic coursed through his muscles and left him convulsing on the floor. His chest felt like it had been shot with a cannon ball. He coughed up a little blood as he staggered to his feet. There were no internal injuries, but he had nearly bitten off his tongue. Apparently, a magical barrier also protected the chapel doors; different from the one that surrounded the Stronghold. There had to be another way inside.

Raziel thought back to all the times he had passed through this place in the past. The Sarafan Stronghold, like the Pillars of Nosgoth, was a place where his history had drawn him back many times. Although he could not recall his human life here, when he infiltrated the Stronghold in an earlier era he recalled the Sarafan warriors using secret tunnels under the floors to reach him. The nearest tunnels exited in the courtyard not far from here and probably connected to the interior of the chapel.

He turned, hearing heavy footsteps coming down the hall with the clanging of metal. The explosion must have alerted the guards. Raziel grimaced. Perhaps he was being too eager. With no time to fight them, he crossed his arms and shifted into the Spectral Realm before the guards reached him.

(~ The clanging faded and vanished as the hallway distorted around him. Here in the Spectral Realm, the magic shield shone through the windows with a blinding light. Raziel sprinted down the hall. Entering the Stronghold's courtyard, he shielded his eyes, barely able to see through the blaze of white light cast off by the barrier, which capped the courtyard like a bubble. Four large, dying trees grew from the four corners of the courtyard, their barren branches twisted like old fingers. A statue of Malek the Paladin, former Conflict Guardian of the Circle of Nine, leader of the Sarafan Order, and yet another one of Kain's victims stood in the center of the courtyard. At least, it might have been Malek. The statue was missing its head and right arm. Although the shield was too bright to allow him to get close, he guessed that the Army of Damesees was most likely not responsible for the damage. Raziel might not be the first creature to infiltrate this place since the army took over.

Shielding his eyes, Raziel stayed under the balcony and made his way to one of the four corners where he knew a hatch would be. The upper levels of the courtyard were usually guarded by archers in the Material Realm. In the Spectral Realm, not even sluagh roamed this place. The light from the shield was too overpowering for their sensitive eyes.

He found what he was searching for in a corner behind a square pillar. The hatch appeared to be nothing more than an ornate tile engraved with the head of a lion. Six hundred years in the past, Raziel witnessed Sarafan Warriors popping out of hatches like this one as they flanked him. Long ago, perhaps his former Sarafan self had used these same tunnels. And now he was about to crawl down one again. Irony seemed to flow in his wake. Pressing himself into the corner, Raziel crouched down and laboriously shifted back to the Material Realm. ~)

As color returned to the courtyard, sickly grass and cracked stone bathed in violet light, he glanced past the pillar in front of him and spotted two guards standing in front of the statue of Malek. They had not noticed him yet. "What d'you 'pose all the hubub is about?" said one to the other.

"Don't know. This don't feel like a normal raid t'me," said the other.

Raziel lifted the hatch and descended a ladder into the tunnel below.

In moments his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Cobwebs clung to the rungs of the ladder and moss and grime slicked the stone floor. A notch in the wall suggested a place for a torch, but it had obviously not been used in some time. Perhaps these tunnels were forgotten in the century since Moebius's death. Raziel welcomed his good fortune.

Crude markings directed him to the chapel. Balancing on the ladder, he lifted the hatch an inch and peered out at his surroundings. He found himself in the chancel. Behind him at the alter stood the memorial to William the Just, whose murder at the hands of the young Kain served as the catalyst for Moebius's crusade.

An iron gate barred the crossing. On the other side of the gate, Raziel saw several guards milling about and chatting nervously about the explosion they had heard earlier. There did not appear to be any guards in the chancel or near the alter. The guards patrolling the nave were too distracted to take notice of him. Raziel swiftly crawled out of the tunnel and quietly lowered the hatch.

(~ William's Chapel distorted, its columns bending like wires and vaulted ceiling bulging and denting in unnatural ways. Raziel paused a moment to rest. This constant shifting was a drain on his strength, but a hundred lifetimes under Kain's boot had endowed him with the firm belief that if one strives to overcome their limitations he will be rewarded. Besides, the Spectral Realm allowed him to avoid confrontations with the Stronghold's guards and stretch his limited time to the fullest.

Pausing to survey his surroundings, he noticed a group of sluagh sniffing around an ornate door and chittering amongst themselves. Raziel drew his left falcata and approached the feral soul hunters. One of the sluagh turned, blinked its fish-like eyes at him, let out a frightened cry and scampered away. The others spread out fearfully around the door to let him pass. They crowded together for protection, crouched on the balls of their their toady feet, watching him like shy children. Keeping one eye on the sluagh, Raziel put his ear to the door and listened. The cries of the dead seemed louder on the other side. An inscription above the door indicated that this was the entrance to the catacombs. Raziel wondered if he might find Vorador's remains there. It seemed a likely place, although perhaps a bit obvious. He wanted to investigate, but to open the door he would need to return to the Material Realm. Shifting back and forth was too taxing to do so often. There were times even he knew to respect his limitations.

The low, constant hissing and chittering of the sluagh would startle any spirit. Raziel slashed at them with his falcata and blasted telekenetic energy at their feet until they retreated from the vicinity of the door. Leaning against the door, he called into the catacombs, "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

It was not the first time he tried to communicate with the dead. During his long imprisonment in the Spectral Realm there was scarce little to do without serving his Benefactor in some way. Talking to the dead seemed to irritate It, which pleased him, although he often needed to force these conversations upon an unwilling and rightfully terrified soul. There had been little back-and-forth. Raziel smoothed his lips and tried again, "Please... I am but a lost soul searching for a friend."

"Who disturbs the dead?" called a deep, male voice through the door. Raziel twitched in excitement. Now he was getting somewhere.

"My name is Raziel. I am a poor lost soul drifting through the void. I am looking for someone - someone buried here. Can you help me?"

A pause. "I will try."

"A man called Vorador. He died about seventy years ago."

A long pause. "We are but jumbles of bones, our names lost to time. Few are remembered here," the spirit cooly replied.

"Who is remembered?"

"The Guardians of the Pillars of Nine."

Raziel raised his eyebrows. He did not expect the Pillar Guardians to be buried in the catacombs of the Sarafan Stronghold. Like Ariel, he wondered if any of their spirits escaped rest. Moebius the Time Guardian had returned to the Wheel - Raziel knew this for a fact - but there was one other Guardian he knew personally, one who might be more willing to help. "What of the Death Guardian, Mortanius? Does his spirit still linger here?"

"You are speaking to him."

This took Raziel by surprise. So Ariel's spirit was not the only one left in limbo after the Pillars' collapse. "Then you know who I am. We met in the Temple of Hash'ak'gik, before you met your doom with Kain. You told me you tried to create the Vampire Champion by resurrecting Kain with the Heart of Darkness - you wanted him to return the Pillars to vampire guardianship. Vorador is vital to his success."

"Cunning words from our adversary."

"You have misread the Ancients' prophecies, Mortanius. We are on the same side. Kain is with me tonight, I am leading him into the Stronghold so that he can resurrect Vorador. Tell me, where has his body been laid to rest?"

Another pause, this one followed by a sigh. "It matters not. Moebius was too clever. He sealed Vorador's body in a secret chamber beneath the tomb of the six martyred Guardians here in the catacombs, which only he could access. Without the Time Streamer, reaching the body will be impossible."

"How so?"

"A unique lock. Only a Time Guardian may open it. Until the Pillars are restored, Vorador cannot be raised."

How deliciously ironic. Raziel smirked. "I do not believe that will be a problem." He paused, struck by a sudden realization. "Do you not sense what I am?"

Hesitation. "You are not dead."

"I _am_ the future Time Guardian, Mortanius. I traveled back to this time period to seek Vorador." He struggled to find the words to prove his case. This time travel nonsense was still foreign soil. He rubbed at his cloven hands, feeling the numbness of the Spectral Realm creeping through his flesh.

Then Mortanius exclaimed, as if he perfectly understood, _"Ah."_

Raziel had forgotten that Mortanius and Moebius had a long history together. He supposed Mortanius must be accustomed to these odd sorts of conversations. He sighed, "I was under the impression that Guardians could sense other members of the Circle."

"Did you not sense me?" Mortanius replied smartly. He continued seriously, "Only the Balance Guardian has that power. It is his task to locate new Guardians when they are born and assemble the Circle."

Raziel frowned skeptically. "Kain senses nothing in me." He referred to the young Kain, currently blazing through Damesees with Byron and his dogs.

"No. While the Pillars are shattered his natural abilities lie dormant. No doubt you suffer the same affliction, Time Streamer. There is a fog over your mind. You cannot remember into the future." When Mortanius phrased it that way, Raziel realized that he and Moebius must have been dangerously close. Only another Time Streamer would describe seeing into the future as remembering. Moebius must have shared many secrets with him.

Mortanius added, almost paternally, "Had Kain been born in a different time, the Circle would have identified him early. We would have taken him in, schooled him in magic, and taught him the purpose and function of his powers. Instead of the patience and diplomacy of a Balance Guardian he has embraced the role of tyrant and conqueror; a necessary but unfortunate consequence of his dark destiny. Without more experienced Guardians to guide him, he will face many obstacles. I fear he is ill prepared."

There was a reason Mortanius gave him this information. He meant to bring Raziel face to face with his own ignorance and make himself out to be a valuable ally. In the hidden Temple of Hash'ak'gik, deep in the bowels of Avernus Cathedral, the living Mortanius had claimed his alliance to the Vampire Champion and the restoration of the Pillars under vampire guardianship. This statement Mortanius had made while his body was under spiritual possession by the Unspoken - the Hylden - the very race he called adversary and the vampires' ancient enemy. Despite his claims to good intentions, Mortanius had a long history of association with disreputable people. "I would expect less than helpful advice from Ariel's murderer."

The spirit of the Death Guardian sobered. "I know. If there was a hell, that is where you would find me. Are you any different?"

Raziel glared as if his eyes could pierce the door. The last time he trusted Mortanius's council he found himself caught in another one of Moebius's traps. It is always preferable to learn from one's mistakes. "Then I leave you to rot in hell, Mortanius." ~)

...

The keepers of the Stronghold were every bit as arrogant as the Sarafan who built it. Having evaded the chapel's defenses in the Spectral Realm, Raziel found the four sorcerers controlling the Stronghold's barrier practically unguarded in their room. Maintaining the magic barrier forced the sorcerers into a deep trance. They did nothing as Raziel slaughtered them. By the time the guards realized what was happening, the floors ran red and sparkling with glass and the remains of the crystal orb the sorcerers had used as the focus of their magic, which Raziel had smashed.

Meanwhile, the lower levels of the Stronghold descended into chaos. The prisoners Raziel released earlier had found weapons and were now running about like rats on a sinking ship and the guards sent to deal with them were either dead or had no idea of the pandemonium occurring above.

Perched on the roof of the tower, Raziel listened to the confused screams, grinning in satisfaction, lips wet with blood. The chill night wind stroked his hair.

Atop the chapel tower, only darkness protected him from the eyes of the Stronghold's archers. From this vantage point he watched as the confused archers scattered across the ramparts and shouted to one another in desperate terror. Nothing like this had ever happened before and no one knew the cause.

(~ Raziel shifted into the Spectral Realm and flew toward the dome where he knew he would find Moebius's time streaming chamber and the last piece of the puzzle needed to resurrect Vorador. With the barrier dispelled he could now fly freely above the Stronghold in the Spectral Realm, beyond the mortal reach of the archers, avoiding the tedious halls and pandemonium below.

Flying over the dome, Raziel spotted a weak point and descended near the cupola. The steel bars, which allowed light to penetrate the dome, were too close together for Kain's bats to fly through and too close to the heavily ramparts to be entered safely. Raziel was an entirely different creature.

He pressed his claws to the steel bars and concentrated to push himself through. As his body turned transparent he felt the cold steel pass through him, as if he was water trickling through a grate. On the other side he dropped down from the skylight. He nearly landed in Moebius's diving cauldron, but a flap of his wings put him back on course and he landed gracefully on the smooth tile floor.

The braziers were unlit, cloaking the chamber in darkness. Raziel surmised that it had been abandoned since the Time Guardian's murder. He crossed his arms and tried to shift back to the Material Realm. Although he was at full strength, it was like trying to force open a sealed stone door. When he felt that he was nearly through icy hands clamped down on him and the blue-green of the Spectral Realm closed in again. For a minute he feared he might be trapped here. After several exhaustive attempts he managed to pass the boundary completely. ~)

Back in the Material Realm at last, Raziel leaned against Moebius's cauldron while feeling slowly returned to his limbs. "Why is this so difficult?" he gasped, complaining to himself.

The freedom to shift at will came at a steep price. If he ever hoped to gain mastery comparable to what he experienced as a wraith he would require vigorous practice. After a few minutes his head finally cleared. Raziel cast _beguile_ over himself and wiped the dust from the bottom of Moebius's smooth divining cauldron to check his results in the reflection. He should not need to use his wings again tonight.

Sadly, he would have to forgo searching Moebius's wing of the Stronghold. If not for the raid approaching Damesees he would have loved to go through Moebius's chamber. There might be other time streaming devices here, star charts, books on time travel (written in layman's terms, he dared not hope), and what else, he could only dream. Perhaps another time. He needed to get what he came for and rendezvous with Kain.

Proceeding down the hall from the time streaming chamber, Raziel entered a large room with a familiar statue as its centerpiece. Moebius's statue looked just as he remembered it during his last foray into this time period; standing tall, eyes pointed toward the heavens, far more handsome than the lean old man it represented, gruesome trophy held aloft, attached to Moebius's stone fingers by some unknown means. Raziel circled the statue, examining it, yet failed to discern the cause of Vorador's binding. Some kind of hook, perhaps? He grimaced as he climbed onto the statue and placed his claws around Vorador's head. Smelling of raw meat, the vampire's cold flesh, still soft after a hundred years, nearly made him gag. He jiggled the head gently. Flesh and bone scraped against a steel anchor. Raziel closed his eyes and sighed, "I'm sorry in advance for this..."

With a little effort he managed to free Vorador's head from its gaudy resting place. Setting aside for a moment the severed spine and total desanguination, the head appeared to be in good condition, apart from the hole in the back of its neck where the hook had been. He held Vorador in his hands and looked at him pitifully. Death had not assuaged him. At any moment he might rend the nearest living thing in his fury. Without his body and soul, he did not have the power. Cradling the head under his arm, Raziel opened the empty potato sack on the floor and gently laid Vorador inside.

"I assure you this is only temporary. Please understand, I know even better than you how it feels to have one's remains defiled. We'll get you back to your body soon." He did not know if Vorador could hear him in this state. Stranger things had happened. He pulled the sack closed and tied the strings securely to his belt.

The door to Moebius's wing had been barred and locked from the outside. Unlike the doors to William's Chapel, this lock was mundane and insecure. Two strong blasts of telekensis and one sturdy kick smashed through the door. With Vorador at his side, he stepped into the hall and looked around.

This section of the Stronghold was also deserted - but not due to abandonment. The keepers of the Stronghold spread themselves thinly between their struggle to contain the escaped prisoners and frantic search for the creature that had brought down the barrier, leaving few to guard the entrance, but it still came as a surprise when he found the massive entryway completely unprotected. His good fortune could not last for long. Experience taught him to beware good luck for the black wake it leaves behind. A little superstitious, perhaps, but Raziel no longer saw any merit in believing in coincidences.

A large switch stood up from the floor. Raziel stood over it and pulled to unlock the doors. Kain ducked through the opening, followed closely by Byron and the four dogs, their maws coated thickly in blood. Though their armor was damaged the hounds appeared to be in good health. Their skillful training reminded him of the trials he and his brothers went through as young vampires under the hands of Kain. Raziel could almost imagine Kain must have started training his hounds young, too. Cared for and built them up from the day they were born to be the perfect soldiers for his blind ambition.

Closing the door again, Raziel untied the sack from his belt and handed it to Byron. "We must move quickly while the Stronghold is in a state of confusion. I believe we will find Vorador's body in the catacombs." Although he doubted Mortanius's sincerity, it was the only lead he had.

Byron held the sack quizzically. There was no blood, as Vorador's head had lost all its fluid long ago. "What's this?"

"Vorador's head. Be careful with it," Raziel cautioned.

Byron's jaw dropped. He glanced at the bag in disbelief and disgust. Raziel almost wanted to slap him. However, his anger found a new target when Kain suddenly snatched the bag away. "I'll carry that."

"It will be safer with Byron," Raziel warned severely. Since Byron favored his crossbow he would be able to stand at the back of the group away from the action, protecting Vorador's precious head from further harm. Vorador would not likely survive in Kain's reckless young hands. Predictably, Kain turned a deaf ear.

"Listen to me you posh twat, raising Vorador is my responsibility-!"

Steel flashed as Raziel drew his twin falcatas. This time Kain was too slow and encumbered to draw the Soul Reaver in defense, for he held onto Vorador's head like the greedy fool that he was. Kain froze, glaring down at the blade at his neck. Raziel growled through his teeth, "Give it back to Byron _now."_

Kain scowled in hesitation and reluctantly handed the bag back to his startled son. Byron took the bag and wisely backed away. Raziel cautiously lowered his swords, keeping them drawn. Even during their golden years together he knew better than to approach Kain with disrespect. "You'll pay for this treachery, Azrael," Kain snarled. Raziel believed him.

"We have more important matters to attend to, Kain. William's Chapel will be swarming with guards by the time we arrive there. The safest way is through a secret tunnel hidden in the courtyard. If and when we reach it, Byron will return the head to me and provide cover while we sneak inside." He glanced at Byron. "Can you handle that?"

"What makes you think you can give the orders here?" Kain furiously interjected. Meanwhile, Byron remained tactfully quiet as he secured the sack to his belt.

Raziel answered plainly, "Because I have the most tactical experience of the three of us. Because without me, neither of you would be here. And most of all, Kain, because this is not about you - it is about saving the life of a wise and honorable old vampire, about setting things right!"

Kain glared at him silently. His rage was young and unrefined, lacking direction. "Justice..." he scoffed, fangs bared. "You're a naive old bastard, aren't you? I want Vorador alive so that he can aid me in founding my empire, nothing more! You are merely a means to that end. If you defy me again, I'll show you just how expendable you are."

The words did not hurt. He was so numb to that pain that his skin was like six feet of ice. "Then _for the damned empire!_ For whatever makes you happy, Kain! You are free to forgo my advice, if your ego demands it. I'll gladly pick Vorador's things off of your corpses when the guards are finished with you and carry on by myself."

They stared each other down, ignorant father and defiant son. After a virtual eternity, Kain tired of their argument. He drew the Soul Reaver and held it at his side in a ready position before pointing it at Raziel. "We'll do this your way, for now. When this is over I suggest you watch your back."

Truer words could not be spoken.


	16. Among the Dead

Bones stacked up along the walls of the Stronghold's catacombs, femurs and human skulls arranged with the skill of an artist. Pillars wrapped in human bone dotted the long hall at regular intervals, shelves gleaming with white candles. Unlike the secret tunnels beneath the Stronghold, these catacombs were lovingly cared for, practically free of dust. Even the bones seemed immune to decay. It was eerily beautiful. Touching, in fact.

Kain's golden eyes scrutinized the rows of skulls, never staying in one place for long. "This place makes my banquet hall look like the hall of King Ottoman."

"I think it's peaceful," Raziel murmured, unconsciously lowering his voice. Before his execution he would have viewed these remains with the same irreverence. All of the council had raised great warriors from their tombs at one time, without thought to the wishes of the dead.

Would the guards they slaughtered find their final resting place here? Who would mourn them?

Raziel's stomach winced from the fullness of human blood. Perhaps he had indulged his curse too much. He blamed it on necessity, for he needed blood to fuel his body for battle, yet this dissonance between his actions and morals still disgusted him.

He paused to check on Vorador's head. The sack was tied securely to his belt and seemed no worse for the ware. Byron had taken good care of it while they made their way through the Stronghold. Kain had gleefully charged to the head of every battle, forcing Raziel and Byron into combat even in situations where they could have more easily sneaked by. The entire Stronghold must be searching for them now. Fortunately, Byron provided enough of a distraction to allow them to sneak through the tunnels and reach the catacombs undetected. Hopefully Byron could outsmart the Damesees soldiers long enough for Kain and he to resurrect Vorador.

"Step quietly, Raziel. Beware the draugar."

The voice emanated from the shadows. Raziel froze, startled. "Kain?"

Kain stopped to glare at him. "What?"

He scanned the catacombs, resting an uneasy claw on his falcata. That sounded like Mortanius. "I thought I heard something."

This seemed to get Kain's attention. He looked nervous. "A spirit?"

Raziel hesitated. Given Kain's animosity toward his creator, it would be best to keep Mortanius's identity a secret. "It said 'beware the draugar.'"

"Hell!" Kain hissed, drawing the Soul Reaver. "I knew it. This place is booby trapped with dark magic."

Raziel raised one eyebrow. Hedrew one falcata and tested the edge with poise. It was starting to dull, but it would do against the half-rotted draugar. "So we hack our way through a few waves of the undead. Sounds simple."

Kain turned on him with an intense scowl. "This Stronghold was once the gathering place of the Circle of Nine. Do you suppose these spells were cast by a petty warlock?" His young master sighed, as if he could mask his fear with irritation, "I have fought Mortanius's creations before. These will be no ordinary draugr."

"You mean like Malek?"

"I would not be surprised," Kain said warily. By binding the Conflict Guardian's soul to his suit of armor, Mortanius had created a nearly indestructible knight. Kain had never defeated Malek. His only contribution to Malek's death was using Vorador's ring to summon the elder vampire to destroy him. Kain had always spoken of Malek with contempt. Raziel did not realize that he feared him, too.

Putting away his falcata, Raziel stepped forward and looked Kain in the eyes. "I am not afraid to go alone."

Kain frowned at him. "You may find that fear is sometimes healthy. Stay on your toes."

"If we're quiet we may be able to sneak past some of them," Raziel offered, following Kain deeper into the catacombs. He noted Kain's petty silence with annoyance. For him, Kain's refusal to cooperate was far more unnerving than the draugar. Kain's recklessness nearly cost them their lives when they were fighting their way through the Stronghold. Without the Soul Reaver, they would have been lucky to escape.

As they continued through the ossuary Raziel glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mortanius's spirit. While he still did not trust the Death Guardian completely, he seemed to be on their side for the time being.

At the end of the hall they came to a large stone double-door adorned with the crest of the Sarafan Order. This must be where members of the Order were laid to rest, Raziel deduced. Although he knew that his corpse was interred at a memorial tomb near the Lake of Tears, the sight of that symbol filled him with dread and revulsion; yet another reminder of his weakness for deception by silver tongued devils. Their Order symbolized the blind faith he now rejected and reviled. Never again would he allow himself to fall under the spell of a powerful figure who claimed to have all the answers. Truth, he discovered, could only be understood by getting down on one's own knees and digging it gleaming from the filth of the earth.

That symbol haunted him for another reason. Raziel knew that when he left this time period his actions would irrevocably forge his alliance him with Captain Hasek and the rest of the vampire hunters, the free humans of Erste Stadt. There could be no going back. Their help was necessary to destroy the remnants of the clans and purge Nosgoth of their corruption. When he returned to the present, he would knowingly re-embrace the role he had renounced; to become a scourge on Nosgoth's vampires, the leader of a genocidal crusade.

Mortanius's words echoed: _If there was a hell, that is where you would find me. Are you any different?_

He needed to stay focused on his goal. Vorador must be raised in order to repair the shattered Reaver. Only with that sword would he have any hope of forcing the elder Kain to surrender his Soul Reaver so that he could return it to its rightful place in the time stream. Nosgoth's history - existence itself - was in his hands.

And yet his insides recoiled at the mere suggestion that he might be forced to set aside his principals and values as a means to an end. He steadied himself, trying to clear his head as he approached the double-doors. He tried the handles.

Shit.

"It's locked."

Raziel inspected the lock. This one appeared to require no more than a simple brass key. But who would have such a key? The mortician? A priest? The caretakers? Where might he find them? They did not have time for this!

"Stand aside," Kain pushed him. He squared his broad body in front of the door and blew it open with a mighty kick that shattered the lock and made the stone scream. Raziel scowled at Kain's indulgent grin. At that moment, as the doors were swinging on their hinges, something shuffled down below.

"Oh, well done!" Raziel lauded sarcastically, careless of the volume of his voice. "Do you think they heard that?"

Flustered, Kain barked, "I didn't hear any suggestions from you!"

"I said we should be quiet!"

"That ship has sailed. You had your plan, now I have mine. Coming?" Drawing the Soul Reaver, Kain leapt down the stairs with a battle cry. _"Vae victis!"_

Undead shrieks echoed through the catacombs as Kain charged headlong into the lower chamber. Lightning flashed and crackled - Kain's energy bolt - and an ice spell exploded in a puff of fog and frost at the foot of the stairs, covering them in a frozen sheet. If Raziel had behaved so recklessly at this age, the elder Kain would have rightly left him to die at the expense of his own foolishness. History denied Raziel this course. Heaving a sigh, Raziel drew his falcata and readied a telekenetic blast in his left hand. He descended quickly, leaping over the frozen portion of the stairs, and assessed the situation.

The stairs led to a three-way intersection in a square room with four pillars. Dried out corpses of Sarafan warriors and sorcerers surrounded them, having emerged from the hallways and alcoves in the walls. Some were armed with swords and shields baring Sarafan markings, bandaged but unarmored, their mummified corpses on full display; meanwhile, the stave wielding sorcerers dressed in ragged robes of grey and faded gold, their bony hands gassing with ice magic. A ghostly white glow permeated their eye sockets. Their ghastly appearance alone would have deterred most human grave robbers. For Raziel, these enchanted corpses conjured up shadows of former lives.

He swallowed the feeling. This was no time to be thinking about the past. Centuries of training took over, focusing his thoughts.

A few draugar had already fallen to Kain's Soul Reaver. While Kain was distracted, a bolt of ice flew and exploded at his feet and Kain nearly lost his balance in surprise. Raziel cringed to think what that ice could have done to Kain's flesh was he not wearing armor. Although ice did not burn as badly as water, it would slowly eat through his flesh while he struggled to escape it if not for the barrier between them. The ice held him fast as two more draugar carrying sword and shield advanced toward Kain from his blind spot.

Raziel could shatter the ice with one well placed blast. Or he could break Kain's leg. Out of the corner of his eye, another draugr sorceress prepared a deadly spell. Raziel lobbed the ball of compressed energy at the sorcerer and charged toward the attacking draugr. The blast knocked the sorceress back and threw her onto her back. As she lost focus ice sprayed from her hand into the air, falling like snow.

The attack alerted the other two draugar, but it was too late. Raziel leapt and spun, cutting off the head of one of the swordsmen with ease. His body staggered blindly for a few steps and crumpled, turning to dust as it fell. The second swordsman darted out of reach with surprising speed and lunged at him. Raziel grit his teeth and grunted as the draugr's sword chopped into his shoulder. Time had dulled the blade, but the counter-attack occurred so fast that there was no way he would have been able to dodge it.

Raziel parried and swung. His falcata clanged against the draugr's shield. He swung low. Blocked. He swung high. Blocked. These draugar were not only fast - they were almost as fast as him. Changing tactics, he kicked the shield as hard as he could. The draugr staggered, exposed. He swung - too high - and chopped out a slice of skin and bone from the draugr's skull.

At that moment a screaming ball of frigid air soared past him, sending chills down the back of his neck. That almost took his head off. "Kain!"

"I'm trying!" Kain snarled. The air crackled with electricity as Kain cast energy bolts at the sorcerers.

While Kain provided cover Raziel danced with the draugr to the beating of shields and clashing of swords. A telekenetic blast could send the draugr staggering, but Raziel's concentration was occupied with dodging and blocking. Amid the trading of blows his sharp ears alerted him to another pair of draugar coming toward him from behind. Ducking and rolling as the draugr's sword slammed against the ground, Raziel distanced himself from his attacker and leapt up the wall to escape. While the draugar were confused Raziel leapt from his vantage point, landing on the nearest draugr and slamming its fragile skull against the stone with full force, shattering bone and tissue and turning the draugr to dust.

Something flashed as the Soul Reaver let out a piercing scream. Without looking, Raziel knew that Kain had freed himself from the ice and was on the attack again. He hoped that he had deposed of the remaining sorcerers.

Raziel leapt again, propelling himself over the advancing foes. He spun in the air and landed to face them. A blast of telekensis sent one of them staggering, but the draugr was too sturdy and recovered quickly. The other draugr was almost on top of him. He blocked its attack with his falcata just as the second draugr cut through his side. The gash was deep, but he had fed well and even deep wounds healed in a matter of seconds. Drawing his second falcata, narrowly blocking a second attack, he desperately tried to put some distance between him and his foes.

A terrible realization struck him and shook him so greatly that he nearly paid for it with his life. He ducked just in time to receive a gash across his cheek.

The bag containing Vorador's head was _gone._ He was so focused on the fight that he had not noticed when or where he lost it, but it was not with him now and there was no time to search for it. In his anger he thrust one falcata through the chest of the nearest draugr. Its corpse billowed into dust as he turned and sliced off its head.

"Azrael!"

"Coming!" Raziel ducked past the other draugar and sprinted toward Kain, surrounded by the unliving dead. Using his twin falcatas and the element of surprise Raziel sliced through two draugar, severing their spinal cords, while Kain ended a third on the Soul Reaver's blade.

"Problem, Kain!"

"Not now!" Kain sneered, shooting him a look. Raziel leapt out of the way as Kain sliced through a draugr that was behind him, careless of the bodies lying on the ground, which still retained enough sentience to cease him by the ankles. He twisted his head around in time to see one of them raising its sword at him.

Kain smashed the draugr's head with one swift stomp and grabbed Raziel by the arm. "This way!" he barked, pulling him toward one of the exits.

Raziel dug his heels into the ground and struggled. "Let go of me! There's only a few left!"

"It doesn't matter!"

_"Vorador!"_

"What!?" Kain stopped, shocked. Raziel wrenched free and sprinted back into the fray.

He felled one of the draugar early, but the others worked against him as a team. As his hair came loose from its braid, black strands flying in front of his face, he realized he could not hear the Soul Reaver's distinctive cry. Kain had abandoned him. Again.

His face clenched with rage. As he swung his falcatas his right arm tingled as if possessed by the familiar fury of the wraith blade - but that was only an illusion of his mind. The physical swords he wielded were nearly an even match for the draugars' steel. Another draugr disintegrated at his feet, but three others remained. A shield struck him in the face out of his blind spot and his ears rang with the cracking of bone. He fell onto his back, bruising his wings and dropping one falcata from the shock.

Something caught him by the arm as he tried to get to his feet. Looking up, he saw the bony, rotten foot of a draugr pinning his sword arm to the ground. The second draugr moved to stand over him. Thinking fast, Raziel shot a weak telekenetic blast at the draugr standing over him, but it raised its shield and the steel absorbed the attack. The draugr raised its sword.

An unholy shriek pierced the air. Suddenly the Soul Reaver exploded through the chest of the draugr pinning him. Raziel rolled backwards, taking advantage of the confusion, and narrowly avoided the sword of the third draugr. Raziel countered, lobbing off its head and sending the draugr back to oblivion in a shower of dust. The other two draugar died by Kain's Soul Reaver. Riled from the fight, Raziel spun on Kain and almost flew at him when he saw the sack containing Vorador's head clutched by the string between Kain's teeth.

Kain tensed and studied him warily. As Raziel slowly relaxed Kain put the Soul Reaver away and took the bag out of his mouth with a grimace. "They wanted to destroy it."

It took Raziel a moment to process what Kain was saying. With everything that had been going on he must have missed that part of the fight. Kain was a bastard, indeed; so much so that he would never make up a lie simply to gain another vampire's favor. He would have bluntly told the truth. Nodding, Raziel called his other falcata into his hand and put the swords away. "Well done," he said breathlessly.

"I bet you wish you had armor now," Kain said with a smirk.

Armor would indeed have come in handy during that fight. As he returned his swords to their sheaths he looked down at himself and what he saw gave him pause. He was a bloody mess, his clothes torn and bloody from wounds he had not even felt. His tunic gave his chest a little protection and paid the price, too. Tasting blood on his lips, he touched his face. A broken nose. It had healed improperly, too. Bracing himself, he corrected the problem with a flick of his wrist. He sniffed, clearing the blood from his nostrils, and spat it onto the ground. He licked his bloody fingers and swept back his wild hair. "Nonsense. I'd be as slow as you."

Kain grunted. He paused to inspect his armor, which held up considerably better against the draugars' swords than Raziel's flimsy clothes, and tie the sack to his belt. This time Raziel did not try to stop him. Kain surveyed the tomb. "Think that's all of them?"

"If there were more, they would still be trying to kill us. Let's step lightly just to be safe."

"Right," Kain agreed.

...

They descended deeper into the catacombs in mutual silence. When they reached another locked door Kain made way for Raziel to try his hand at breaking the lock. Some members of his clan knew how to pick locks using telekensis, but this was a specialist skill and Raziel was unpracticed. After several failed attempts they decided that the only solution was to use Kain's method. Raziel made sure they went in with a plan this time.

It felt strange to be discussing strategy with Kain, like old times again. During his master's War of Conquest Raziel had proven his worth as a strategist and earned the envy of his brothers. He had received honors. Ignorant and vain, the young Kain argued with him pettily, though he did concede to some of Raziel's points without a great conflict between them.

With experience and strategy on their side they cleared the next room with greater ease, though the draugar were worthy foes. If Mortanius could create these out of mere flesh and bone, Raziel could only imagine the juggernaut the Death Guardian created when he fused Malek's soul with his suit of armor and he finally understood why the fledgling Kain failed to defeat him without Vorador's assistance. Scanning the burial chambers as they continued down the hall, Raziel began to worry. "We've been down here a long time. How do you suppose Byron is holding up?"

"Well, he has my hounds," Kain mused, not enthusiastically.

Raziel frowned. "We must be deep underground now. It feels as though we've been walking for miles."

"A lot of trouble to go through to protect a bunch of dead bodies," Kain muttered.

"Maybe they're protecting them from creatures like us." He could not disguise his bitterness.

Kain glanced at him critically. "For your sake, I hope not."

"I do not fear death, Kain." Indeed, he might count it as a blessing. At least it would spare him from the Armageddon to follow if he failed in his task. Being down here reminded him of how much simpler his life would have been if Kain left his corpse in peace. As much as he valued the opportunity to rise above his loathsome human existence, he could not deny that had his life ended there he would have experienced considerably less suffering.

"No wonder you feel so at home down here," Kain grumbled. He thought for a moment. "Hmph. Azrael. _Angel of Death._ It all makes sense now."

Raziel felt himself smirk. Perhaps he was being too grim. "You accuse me of melodrama. Are you afraid to die?"

"I tried it once and did not care for it. You seem to long for death."

"No, I have simply made peace with death. You should do so too, Kain. It will make you stronger."

The young Kain scoffed. "Only fools go quietly."

Raziel thought he would say that.

To die was a familiar thing by now, like embracing an old friend. There was something comforting in knowing that he could meet it without fear and perhaps even with a sense of relief. He would not go to death crying and sick to his stomach as he had when the elder Kain threw him into the abyss. He could go stoically; he could go laughing. Despite the dangers ahead, he feared much more for Nosgoth than he did for himself.

They came upon a gigantic door bearing the Nine Pillar Crests: Death, States, Time, Energy, Nature, Conflict, Dimension, Mind, and in the center, Balance. Each crest was marked with a gem. Several pieces on the door appeared to be mobile, cogs in the clockwork system of a very complicated lock. An inscription over the door read:

- THE HALL OF GUARDIANS -

"Stand aside," Kain said, stepping forward.

"I don't think you'll be kicking this door open," Raziel remarked. He suspected this door would be more complex than the clockwork door he discovered in Moebius's secret chamber. Perhaps those gems were the key. They appeared to swirl with magic energy.

Without saying a word Kain cast an energy bolt at the center Pillar. The Balance Emblem flashed. Energy coursed through the door in an arch, lighting up each gem in turn. Gears cranked and strained to open the doors. Raziel raised his eyebrows at Kain. He shrugged, "Balance Guardian."

Sometimes Raziel forgot. For much of his life Kain had been Lord of Nosgoth. His title as Balance Guardian was less important, some might say irrelevant, during the empire. Apart from the Council few vampires knew or remembered that Kain had once been called to serve the Pillars. Kain seemed entirely the wrong person for the task: an arrogant, ambitious murderer with barely a trace of humanity in his soul.

Enchanted candles flickered to life as they entered the sepulchre. For the first time Raziel saw signs of decay, cobwebs and dust. This chamber did not appear to have been accessed since the last Guardians fell. He wondered how long it would be before this place faded into myth and legend like so much of Nosgoth's history.

The Guardians' tombs were arranged in rows of columns according to their position in the Circle. To the right lay the graves of the Death, States, Time, and Energy Guardians. There were few caskets here. Mortanius and Moebuis were the soul occupants of their Pillars. Raziel noted that Moebius's coffin had been dragged from its resting place and opened, its heavy lid lain on the ground.

On the left side of the sepulchre: Nature, Conflict, Dimension, and Mind. The Balance Guardians were entombed in the back. The hall forked in the middle, two hallways open between States and Time and Conflict and Dimension. There were more graves in the alcove of the Conflict Guardians than any other. Malek's body, however, was not entombed here.

Two large statues presided over the Hall of Guardians. One wore a familiar looking suit of armor and carried a pole arm, his foot propped on the decapitated head of a vampire, its tongue lolling grotesquely. The other, also clad in ornate armor, carried a sword and shield. A pyramid, the symbol of Balance, was engraved into his shield.

"Malek," Kain jeered at the first statue.

"I don't think it is... look here." Raziel cautiously approached the two statues. He knelt in front of the inscription on their pedestal.

-| LYSANDER |-  
Founder of the Sarafan Order  
First Guardian of the Pillar of Conflict

-| ELIJAH |-  
Father of the Circle of Nine  
First Guardian of the Pillar of Balance

"This is the Conflict Guardian, but it's not Malek. He came before. And the Balance Guardian..." Raziel craned his head at the statue. These were clearly not vampire Guardians. The inscriptions claimed that the Pillars called on human Guardians to rid Nosgoth of 'the vampire plague.' Raziel bristled at the disrespect shown to the original vampire Guardians, their names lost to time, and the false history created by Moebius and Mortanius.

This Balance Guardian appeared to be a warrior, like Malek and Lysander. Raziel had always assumed that the role of the Balance Guardian was that of regulator and peace keeper. Mortanius seemed to suggest so. While Kain inspected the graves of the Guardians he had killed, Raziel investigated the coffins containing the other human Balance Guardians. There were four: Elijah the Patriarch, Sana the Rune Weaver, Phoebe the Cleric, and Ariel the Empath. Unlike the other Guardians, each Balance Guardian seemed to take on a wildly different role than their predecessor. But what did it mean?

"Raziel..."

Raziel looked up in time to catch a glimpse of Mortanius standing in the hall to his right. The spirit of the Necromancer wore the same red robes he had the last time Raziel saw him alive. Demon horns sprouted from his leather shoulder pads and his eyes glowed deathly white. Light bled through his insubstantial spirit. As the Death Guardian vanished into the aether Raziel glanced at Kain, who was leaning over Moebius's open grave, and hurriedly sneaked down the hall.

Mortanius's disembodied voice whispered urgently, "One of your accomplishes has been captured. You must hurry, the soldiers will be here soon."

Raziel grit his teeth and broke into a run. At the end of the hall he came to a memorial chamber to the Guardians Vorador had killed. There was a pedestal in the center of the room. Raziel quickly searched the area but could find no signs of secret doors or levers. He jumped, startled by Mortanius's voice, "Now we shall have the truth of the matter. Use your Pillar Token to unlock the pedestal. You will hear a clicking sound. Turn the pedestal all the way to the left until it locks."

Raziel inspected the pedestal warily. There was a small slot in the center. Taking out Moebius's hourglass, he held it next to the opening and saw that it would fit. So it was just as he thought; this mysterious hourglass was Moebius's Pillar Token.

Only thanks to the Pillar Token of the Time Guardian had Raziel learned how to use the divining cauldrons and Chronoplasts. The knowledge it imparted to him made all his plans possible. Without it he was useless. His cloven fingers closed around the hourglass. "Why should I trust you?"

The Necromancer's voice replied, "As Guardians of the Pillars we are sworn to protect Nosgoth."

"A vow you and Moebius have broken countless times," Raziel countered. His eyes scanned the room, unable to pin point the source of Mortanius's voice.

"I have done all I can to redeem myself. I created Kain to destroy Moebius and I along with the rest of the Circle in order to protect Nosgoth from the Unspoken... and from ourselves."

Raziel sighed exasperatedly. "And Kain destroyed the Pillars. What should I make of that?"

"It is true, plans did go awry. You may blame your predecessor for that. I do not know why you are here, Raziel, but as Time Guardian I must assume your presence is of vital importance. I am trusting you as much as you are trusting me."

This was not the first time Raziel heard himself compared to Moebius. Now he did not find the comparison so amusing. What he intended on doing here would place the entire time stream in danger. Although the time stream would be at risk whether or not Vorador repaired the Reaver, that did not make his intentions morally sound. Was it better to let Nosgoth die and do nothing or to strike her down with his own hands in a foolish attempt to save her?

Mortanius was right after all. They both deserved hell.

Raziel dropped the hourglass into the slot.

* * *

**AN:** Please checkout the news on my profile for 4/18/13. Thanks!

Additionally, I'd like to say a few words about the door to the Hall of Guardians. Any member of the Circle can open this door, not just Kain. Raziel could have opened it if he figured out what to do before Kain.

Note: "Draugar" is the plural of "draugr."


	17. Vorador Rises

Something clicked within the pedestal and the designs glowed red and gold. Grabbing the pedestal, Raziel turned it to the counter-clockwise until the mechanism resisted and the chamber began to rattle. Dust leapt from the floor tiles. Clinging to the pedestal, Raziel watched as the panels descended in a spiral staircase leading to a secret lower chamber. The memorial chamber fell silent.

Mortanius spoke to him, "You may retrieve your token now. The passage will remain open until the pedestal is turned clockwise."

A blue glow surrounded his claws and the hourglass leapt into his cloven hand. Raziel breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over his shoulder. The pedestal now stood on a stable platform connected to the hallway by a bridge. The staircase spiraled away beneath him, descending into darkness. Raziel hopped down.

"This is Vorador's tomb. Moebius ordered its construction while the memorial chamber was being built. Only I knew what Moebius intended to do with it. He always did plan ahead."

"Not far enough, apparently," Raziel murmured. "There's something I still don't understand. Why didn't Moebius destroy Vorador's body?"

"I cannot speak for him, but he always had a cruel sense of humor. Perhaps he wanted to condemn Vorador's soul to an eternal limbo."

Or to torment Kain, Raziel mused to himself. Without a living Time Guardian reaching this tomb would have been impossible. Kain would have needed to restore the Pillars before the tomb became accessible. The only way to do that, as far as the young Kain was aware, was by committing suicide. Cruel joke, indeed.

There were no lights beneath the memorial chamber. At the bottom of the stairs, a shallow corridor led to a rough carved alcove containing a humble stone coffin. The grave was unmarked. No effort had been made to distinguish the deceased from the unnamed masses in the catacombs above. Raziel laid his claws upon the smooth, grey stone, brow knit. So this was Vorador's final resting place. He ran the tips of his claws along the seam. The coffin had not been securely sealed. He only needed to lift the lid.

Raziel heard footsteps pounding down the hall. Reaching for his falcata, Raziel leapt up the stairs. Kain was running toward him. The sack containing Vorador's head was still attached to his belt. "Azrael, they're coming!"

"I know," Raziel snapped, drawing his weapon. "Go down those stairs and take care of Vorador. I'll hold them off."

Kain stopped, looking lost. "What?"

Had he not been paying attention? Raziel gestured. "Vorador's body is down there! Get down there and revive him - use the signet ring!"

Raziel sprinted past the baffled Kain and back to the Hall of Guardians. He could hear the footsteps of the soldiers clanging off the stone floors of the catacombs. They were coming down the stairs. How many men was that? Six, seven? He might be able to handle that many in an open space, but the corridor leading to the Hall was confined.

He gathered energy in his claws and shot a burst of telekenetic energy at the party, knocking over a few of the soldiers in the front and sending them tumbling down the stairs in their armor. Crossbow bolts flew past him. He swerved, avoiding the slew of arrows as more archers wearing leathers appeared at the top of the stairs. There were ten in total, nearly twice what he counted on. Raziel grit his teeth and prepared himself. He needed to buy Kain more time.

While the foot soldiers lumbered to their feet Raziel used telekenesis to attack the archers and push them back. He focused on blasting their crossbows, hoping to damage them. As the foot soldiers rushed him he grabbed his second falcata and fended. The corridor was an awkward size for holding back an attack; restrictive enough to keep him at a disadvantage yet wide enough to allow his foes to slip through at a trickle. He tried to keep the soldiers in front of him and stay on the move to make it more difficult for the archers. He managed to take out two of the foot soldiers before one managed to flank him.

Raziel spun, fending off the flanking soldier, when a sword cut deep into his side. He tried to escape and found himself face to face with another sword. He ducked and slammed his shoulder into the soldier's chest plate. The steel dented and the soldier keeled over with a crash. A crossbow bolt cut through the air, narrowly missing his shoulder. He spun around again, just in time to block another sword. His dark hair flew across his eyes. There were too many of them and Raziel was quickly losing ground.

He scrambled backward to give himself more room to maneuver. Some of the archers whooped, cheering on his death. Something shrieked in Raziel's ears.

_Caw! Caw!_ The flapping of wings!

A flock of crows blew past Raziel in a gush of wind and inky feathers. Their blazing green eyes left behind comet tails. The murder swarmed the soldiers, who faltered at the sudden and unexpected attack. Melting into a veil of green mist, the crows transformed into a monstrous man bound in bulging muscles and leathery skin the color of darkest wilderness. War cries bellowed from his gaping maw, two inch fangs gleaming yellow-white, slick with drool.

_Crackle! Snap! Rip!_ The soldier screamed as cloven fingers twisted and broke his sword arm from his body in a burst of blood. Raziel staggered back. The scent of iron filled the air.

Flipping the arm around, Vorador grasped the sword and sliced through a second soldier. aiming for the weak points in his armor, until blood leaked from every seam. The other men tried to flee, unaware that their deaths were now a certainty. In less than a minute Vorador reduced the entire party to lifeless suits of bloody armor. Only a few archers managed to escape. He stood over their bodies, blood dripping down the sides of his face from voracious feeding, panting wolfishly, his slitted citrine eyes flashing reflective light, every muscle a coiled spring. Enormous bat-like ears, almost the size of his head, rotated in all directions, seeking out signs of life to silence.

He whirled on Raziel. Raziel leapt back, taking a defensive stance, but Vorador did not attack but hunched menacingly bearing bloody sword and tooth. Time's ravages and brutal combat had almost completely obliterated Vorador's once fine clothes. Relieved of his crimson and gold coat, he was left with a simple white shirt, now grey, ripped, and stained red, and black trousers. Before he turned on him Raziel caught a glimpse of a dragon tattoo on Vorador's back resembling the designs found throughout his manor in Termogent. Indeed, when so enraged, Vorador shared more traits in common with dragons than vampires, although he possessed no wings.

As he glowered at Raziel he blinked and a spark of consciousness interrupted his primal glare. He appeared confused, as Janos had when Raziel resurrected him with the Heart of Darkness. Suddenly a deep, exuberant laugh echoed off the catacomb walls. Vorador turned toward the sound. Kain strutted from the Hall of Guardians, grinning irrepressibly. "Good morning, Sunshine!"

Vorador blinked again. His green lips slowly closed in a hard, thin line and his eyes drained of pity. Kain's bravado wilted. His smile pushed up daises. The catacombs fell deathly silent. Raziel heard Vorador's claws clench the hilt. _Oh no._

Human eyes would have failed to see what happened next; Vorador flew at Kain like an arrow. At almost the same instant Kain drew the Soul Reaver defensively, his back against a wall, cornered like a rat before a lunging viper. Seeing the Soul Reaver, Vorador dug in his heels and skidded to a stop less than a foot away from an uncharacteristically shaken Kain.

Several seconds crawled by. After more than a century in limbo Vorador's mind was erratic, dazed. He looked from the sword to the vampire holding it, disbelieving and disgusted. Finally the tension seemed to ease a fraction. Raziel felt the ice in his veins melt. That was close.

"Kain..." Only one other being had uttered Kain's name with such contempt, but though Vorador made his displeasure abundantly clear his rage was tempered by the gathering storm of his senses. He took a small step back, almost like a courtesy, but he did not take his eyes off of the younger vampire. Even his displeasure at seeing Kain slowly receded, although not entirely. He tilted his head, ears alert. "Where am I?"

"The catacombs - beneath the Sarafan Stronghold. You've been in limbo for seventy years. This is a rescue," Kain stammered out, licking his lips behind the Soul Reaver.

Eyes falling back to the sword, Vorador scowled at it. Raziel swore he saw a shadow of pained dejection pass over Kain's face. His arrogance evaporated in a puff of steam beneath Vorador's heated glare. He lowered the Soul Reaver a fraction as if in defeat.

"Puh," Vorador huffed. He turned his back on Kain, as if to declare the young vampire of no threat, and wiping the blood from his mouth, turned the fire of his attention on Raziel. "Who the hell are you?"

When Raziel entered the past he had presumed he would meet Vorador in a more rational state of mind. Even if Vorador did not have the power to shatter his _beguile_ spell in an instant he would have needed to repress the desire to shrink from that gaze. He rattled his brain for something to jog Vorador's memory. "Azrael, sire -"

Before he could say any more, Vorador bluntly cut him off. "I know no Azrael."

The silence was so heavy it could have crushed a horse.

"I believe he's one of your children," Kain interjected shakily. "He led me here. That is, he destroyed the barrier so that I could enter. He seems to know a lot about you." Although he was clearly confused by Vorador's statement, he did not seem too eager to be alone with his old mentor and fortunately his fear stopped him from inspecting Raziel too closely. Vorador had already seen through _beguile_. If Kain became too suspicious, the illusion would break for him, too.

The tips of his ears twitched in agitation as he studied him. After a long pause, he said, "Then I thank you, stranger, but you are no son of mine." He tilted his head to one side and spared Kain a weary glance. "But... perhaps I am mistaken. My memory is a little fuzzy right now. I thought you were dead."

Kain frowned, disappointed in Vorador's lack of faith. He put the Soul Reaver away. "Let's just get out of here," he grumbled, taking the lead.

As Vorador fell into step beside Raziel, he felt the old vampire's eyes on him and tensed nervously. There was no mistaking it. Vorador was looking directly at the wings on his back. The illusion would hold up as long as Vorador did nothing to make Kain look at him more closely. Still, his situation was precarious. If Vorador knew his true identity, maybe he would play along with the deception. "I must look like a ragged excuse for a savior," Raziel said, hopping to trigger the old vampire's memory.

Vorador met his eyes. His cat-like pupils gave him a severe gaze, helped by his scrunched nose and stern mouth. He wore the scars of a thousand lifetimes on his face. Raziel could not guess what he was thinking. "How did you find me?" Vorador said. It sounded more like a command than a question.

"Kain knew your location. I merely provided the means of entry." He clicked his jaw, thinking. "I am sorrowed that you cannot remember me. You and I go back a long way. We saw the corruption of the Pillars and you told me of the Ancients' prophecies."

He blinked, mind racing, face twisting with terrible relations. "The Pillars... no..." His face fell and he closed his eyes with a shake of denial.

Raziel tried to speak gently, to ease him. There was no polite way of explaining. "You've been dead for nearly a century, Vorador. The Pillars are... they haven't survived. Kain is the last Balance Guardian, the last member of the Circle. There is some good news. Your manor in Termogent is still standing and Kain has turned a few vampires of his own. Moebius's crusade is over. The humans are too concerned with fending off demons to hunt vampires anymore."

"No..." Vorador put his cloven hand to his temple. He could barely comprehend what Raziel was saying. Raziel slowed to keep pace with him. He tried to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but Vorador denied him with a sweeping gesture and stopped. Raziel stopped beside him.

"Are you ladies coming?" Kain barked. He had stopped several feet ahead of them and stood glaring at their lack of progress. Vorador did not respond. Raziel cast Kain a withering look, which the young vampire brushed off like oil.

"It does not matter," Vorador sighed, barely above a whisper. He looked unbelievably tired. He swept his cloven hand across his bald head and closed his eyes for a long space. There was no evidence of grief or tears, but bleak acceptance with - startlingly - a hint of bitter relief, as one feels when relieved of an ill-fated burden, such as a dying friend whose suffering has finally ceased. Raziel did not know what to say.

Vorador looked at him. This time he almost saw a flicker of recognition in the old vampire's eyes. He had no idea what could have triggered it, but if it was indeed recognition, he welcomed it unquestioningly. Without saying a word, Vorador began walking again and Raziel followed in silence. Kain studied them a moment. He continued to keep his distance from the both of them as they made their way through the catacombs. Perhaps his avoidance was for the best.

No words passed between them for sometime. Their footsteps echoed hollowly. Vorador examined his sword and tested the weight with a disapproving frown. The swordsmiths of Damesees clearly failed to impress him. Raziel expected no less from a master blacksmith. Vorador's cold gaze turned on Kain's legendary sword - the sword which he had forged hundreds of centuries before Kain's birth. "I see you've found the Soul Reaver, Kain."

At first, Kain seemed surprised that Vorador was speaking to him - then disappointed. "You don't sound impressed."

Nor did Vorador look it. As he glanced between the two of them, Raziel felt a faint twinge between his shoulder blades, the prick of a needle. Vorador's tone sharpened. "How did you get it?"

Disappointment turned to distrust. Vorador seemed to imply that Kain had attained the Soul Reaver through less-than-righteous means. "I discovered it hidden away in Avernus Cathedral, in the arms of an angelic statue, while hunting the Dimension Guardian."

Vorador's eyes narrowed. His mere gaze caused Kain to snap, irritated and wary. "As a matter of fact, I do not see how my sword is any of your business."

Something was brewing between them. Vorador paused and tilted his head as if to taste the atmosphere. "Do you know how Moebius began his crusade, Kain? A beloved prince called William the Just was murdered by an impetuous young vampire wielding the Soul Reaver. Moebius used the humans' grief over his murder to raise an army to take vengeance upon our entire race. For the impudence of one, we all suffered. That vampire cost me everything; my children, my home, even my life. I spent my final years hunting and despising him."

"Perhaps he had a good reason," Kain tried, steadying his voice. The elder Kain always spoke of Vorador as if the old vampire considered them equals. Seeing them together now, Raziel wondered why Vorador even allowed Kain to breathe the same air.

And Raziel could not disagree. History said that Vorador and Kain would continue as allies for centuries after his resurrection - but the evidence of his eyes and the pleas of his heart said otherwise. He could hardly think of a worse punishment than to spend the next three centuries with this brat.

Vorador's voice deepened in animosity: "Then I met _you._ I thought myself the last vampire in Nosgoth until you came to my door. You were young, impetuous, but possessed of much potential. And you wanted to destroy the Circle. You seemed to be the answer to my prayers."

Kain suddenly turned on his old mentor. "Do not start -"

"But I was wrong," Vorador charged, interrupting, advancing on Kain. "Instead I find you now a shadow of my worst nightmares, the cause of the Pillars' fall and the genocide of our race. I tried to educate you about what I believed was your true purpose. I guided your sword against the Circle and aided you unconditionally, like a father. And this is how you repay me!?"

Kain was faltering. He should have kept his mouth shut, but he gave himself away with guilty words, "That was over twenty years before I was born. How could I -"

"Do not insult me with your lies, Kain!"

Raziel felt the tension rise into his throat. This was not a fight he wanted to get in between.

Backing away, hand poised to grab the Soul Reaver, Kain warned, "Stay back!" Meanwhile Vorador matched him step for step. He circled Kain like a wolf stalking a lost fawn. His movements were slow and precise, his voice an early frost creeping over the young vegetation and suffocating it.

"I warned you not to meddle in the affairs of humans. Now look where it's brought you."

"You have no right to question me! You have no idea the decisions I had to make!"

Vorador was unmoved. "You have no idea what you're doing, boy."

"I'm warning you, Vorador... I'll not hesitate." Kain's hand closed around the hilt, fangs bared.

"You are hesitating." Vorador arched a brow. His gaze was arresting, calculating, and unshakable. Kain may as well have brandished a brittle twig at him.

Raziel looked at the young vampire. He saw fear in Kain's eyes; reckless, stupid fear. "Vorador, stop! This has gone far enough. Kain came here to make amends."

At that word Vorador paused. His gaze turned on him, questioning and hateful. Raziel knew that hatred, recognized it like he recognized his own reflection, and he felt like punching himself for needing to dissuade him from it. "Is this what Janos would want? There are barely any of us left."

Vorador blinked and his expression shifted slightly. His eyes hardened over with ice. "Janos is dead."

"Janos died protecting the Reaver. I promise it is no accident that Kain holds it now. He _is_ the Scion of Balance."

Vorador's eyes widened. "How do you...?" He stopped, puzzled and angry, and shot Kain a glare. "Tell me this, boy. Are you responsible for William's death?"

Lowering his hand, Kain curtly replied, "You already know the answer. I thought the gift of life would be recompense."

His large ears withered. "That may be so, Kain, but we can never reclaim what was lost. Nothing you do will ever restore the countless lives you erased."

"I don't care," Kain retorted callously, fed up with Vorador's moralizing. "We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. An army of demons is advancing on Damesees. Once they breach the outer wall they will come here and destroy everything."

Vorador fell silent for a space. He held his cloven hands at his sides, palms out. "So this is your idea of a rescue."

"You're welcome to go back to the grave, you old toad!" Kain roared.

Vorador's nostrils flared in a huff of annoyance. He turned to Raziel. "Do you have a plan, Azrael?"

The plan had been to get down here as quickly as possible, raise Vorador, and escape as quickly as possible. He had not counted on the draugar or Byron being captured, let alone Kain slowing them down by arguing and facing every foe, regardless of whether it was necessary. The Kain he knew was _usually_ above that sort of thing. He crossed his arms and thought for a moment. "Can you teleport us to Termogent?"

"Too risky. Demons distort space the same way I do. They would intercept us before we completed the jump. Even if it was safe, I could only take one of you."

Raziel knew that demons could teleport from one dimension to another. That was how they were able to cross over into Nosgoth before the Hylden, who still needed to rely on other means even after the Pillars' collapse. But he had not been aware of their ability to interfere with Vorador's teleportation spells. They would have to leave another way. "You two will be able to escape through the courtyard now that the barrier is down. We should be able to reach it without getting into any scrapes, if we hurry. I'll draw fire away from you and we'll regroup at the manor tomorrow night."

Vorador considered this briefly. "That may not be so easy. Suppose the Stronghold is already under siege. What then?"

"Same plan. Whatever happens, you and Kain need to get out of here alive. I'll be all right." There was another matter he needed to attend to anyway. Byron was still up there somewhere, possibly alive. Kain might be willing to leave him behind - but Raziel was not.

Vorador looked at Kain. The young vampire was pouting. "That sword is a little big for you, don't you think," Vorador said dryly, gesturing toward the Soul Reaver. Kain scowled and crossed his arms.

"Then you may pry it from my cold, dead fingers."

"That was the general idea. A sword is only as good as its master. You lack self-control, Kain. Are you going to listen to me this time?"

Kain sulkily averted his eyes. Vorador sighed, but he seemed to understand that semi-submissive silence was the best he could expect from Kain under the circumstances. It was also more than most people could hope for when dealing with Kain. The young lord hated to lose.

The three of them continued through the catacombs. As they neared the surface, the catacombs rumbled and a shower of dust fell from the ceiling. Inside William's Chapel, something bellowed.


	18. War Dogs

What had once been the ossuary was now reduced to a pile of rubble. The Damesees archers that escaped Vorador's hunger deep in the catacombs met their end beneath a landslide of mortar, their broken bodies strewn among the bloody debris. The howls of demons pierced the stone walls. Beyond the catacombs, the forces of Damesees were fighting to win back the Sarafan Stronghold and the crumbling Chapel of William the Just.

Vorador stuck his sword in the ground. "Looks like we're digging. Azrael?"

Raziel arched a brow. These debris were too large for him to move and they were wedged beneath even larger slabs of stone and mortar. Perhaps he could have been some use as a wraith, but… He caught the look in Vorador's eye and understood.

Like _beguile_, the _transform_ spell would also be passed onto Kain's offspring. It was not an innate skill. Kain needed to teach it to them. Raziel had never mastered it, largely because he found the process of sprouting fur all over his body so repellant that he felt no desire to learn. He preferred to master one form – _his_ form – than clutter up his time learning two. Even if he wanted to try, the spell would break _beguile _immediately. He stood back to give Vorador space. "Sorry, I'll have to sit this one out."

Vorador turned to Kain. He nodded and encouraged Vorador with a sweeping gesture. "Age before beauty."

The chamber rumbled. Vorador rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, letting out a sigh. Meanwhile, Raziel watched the ceiling distrustfully. He could only pray it would hold up long enough for Vorador and Kain to dig through the blockage.

One by one Vorador's vertebrae popped and elongated. Dark fur sprouted over his growing body, black with a mossy tint, and his clothes disappeared into his dark coat. His limbs grew disproportionately to his body, becoming long and lean like tree branches, while his cloven hands split, snapping and cracking into five long fingers, each digit as thick as a steak bone and tipped with furry, bird-like talons. His face bulged outward into a long snout ending in a black nose and saber teeth. On his hind legs, Vorador's hunched back came up to the ceiling.

Kain followed his lead, transforming into an enormous white wolf. His weapons and armor melted into his fur. Seeing Kain in this form was a rare sight. Although wolf form increased his speed, agility and strength, the Soul Reaver rendered the benefits of this form practically obsolete, unless Kain needed to scout an area on foot, a task which he had always dealt out to his sons. The white wolf crouched on all fours and shook out its thick coat.

The two beasts dug through the wall of debris. Their massive paws had no trouble moving even the largest pieces of stone. Staying out of their way, Raziel kept an eye on the ceiling. With the catacombs collapsing the Sarafan's secret tunnels were certainly not safe. In order to reach the courtyard, they would need to take a more direct route.

As Kain and Vorador removed the blockage the smell of smoke and fire entered the catacombs. Raziel's skin prickled as memories of Avernus Cathedral in flames assaulted his mind. The white wolf paused, massive nostrils tasting the ashes. Its ears flattened and a snarl passed its massive fangs, almost as if it knew, and for a moment Raziel heard the voice of the elder Kain speak plainly in his ear:

_You must trust me, Raziel. Our intentions - for Nosgoth, for our futures - are not so_ _diverse._

Raziel shook himself. One day he hoped he could find it in himself to forget all of this madness. They were almost through when the cracks in the ceiling started to spread. "Hold!" Raziel shouted.

The two wolves turned their massive heads. Vorador eyed the cracks for a moment. Standing up to his full height, he braced his back against the ceiling and barked at Kain. Vorador sent Raziel a meaningful glance and growled softly. Although his face was more wolf than man, Vorador's eyes retained their ancient wisdom. A mere look from him could communicate volumes. _You first._

Raziel nodded and went to Kain's side. "Keep digging."

Kain dwarfed him in this form. He was at least seven feet tall, the same size as the demons they fought in the forest. There was no disconnect between Kain's golden eyes and his wolfish face. His soul seemed at home in the body of the beast; his gaze amoral, relentless, and quietly cunning. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Kain's eyes were all bricked up.

The white wolf reached deep into the debris and dug out a path small enough for him to pass through. Flames flickered on the other side. Meanwhile, a huge battle was taking place in the nave. Based on the noises he heard, he deduced that there were black demons inside the chapel; the largest and most dangerous of their kind. They stood eight to ten feet tall with thick, black hides shimmering with a thin coat of coarse fur, the horns of a ram, and backs covered in spikes.

The crossing gate had been utterly destroyed by the demons and flames licked at the walls. As Raziel leapt through he immediately found himself thrown into a confrontation with a trio of grey demons. Lightning sizzled through their pincers. They hunched like praying mantises, their lean and agile bodies coiled to attack, obsidian horns reflecting orange light.

Raziel had just enough time to survey his surroundings. The crossing gate had been peeled open like a piece of flesh. On the other side, a single black demon decimated the fleeing soldiers. A fountain of fire spewed from its gaping mouth, incinerating its foes and setting fire to the chapel.

Behind him, progress blocked by the rubble, Kain let out a furious bellow. Raziel drew his falcatas and charged at the nearest grey demon. As he struck its flesh a burst of static leapt off his sword on contact, momentarily stunning him. A second demon lunged, catching him in its slender pincers and holding him aloft like a trophy. The surprise attack caused him to scream involuntarily. Bitter old memories spun through his head. Forgetting the danger, he threw open his wings and flapped like a bird in the mouth of a snake.

Too late he realized the grave mistake he had made. The wraith blade protected him from their shocking skin the last time he fought these demons - but his falcatas were made of steel. Alone the shock from the demon's skin would not do significant damage. If he had been prepared for it he might have kept his wits, but the sudden unexpected shock was just enough to make him vulnerable.

One pincer held his right arm immobile while the other squeezed his midsection like a vice. He wriggled, legs kicking above the ground, slashing at the demon's arms with his left falcata, fangs spitefully revealed. The blade knocked against the hard, bony appendages like a dull axe. It was no good and he knew it.

Blue sparks climbed down the stalks on the demon's back.

Suddenly -

White fire surged through his body. The taste of copper filled his mouth. If he screamed, he heard only lightning crackling through his ears. By the time he hit the ground his nerves were sizzling like half-spent coals. It was not the first time that he found himself caught in the pincers of a grey demon - but the experience was markedly different from what he remembered. His vampire body was far more conductive to electricity than the wraith he was accustomed to, and now he paid the price for his lack of foresight.

Raziel squinted. Bright shapes spun in mute blinding glare and made wakes. Something enormous and immovable pressed down on his ribs. It was not that he did not want to get up. If he had even a quiver of feeling in his claws he would have crawled to his feet, but every muscle in his body was as rigid as a day old corpse. What was left but to wait for death?

A single point of white light danced before his eyes. Some claimed to see a white light before they died. Raziel never had. The first time he died - the first time he could remember - the scalding waters of the abyss turned everything dark red and his ears filled with rushing water and the hiss of burning flesh; and after the eyes boiled out of his skull a hundred orbs of colored light had flared wickedly through his brain, until that also boiled. The second time he died he faded into darkness. There was a light then, but that came later, after everything had already stopped.

No, he was not dying. Everything hurt too much to be dying. Even the abyss did not hurt this much when he was close to the end. But the demons should have torn him apart. Distant sounds touched his ears, close yet so far away; a battle.

He blinked slowly and deliberately, bringing the chapel into focus. The dancing light dulled and solidified into a flying mass of white fur with a gaping, toothy mouth that howled and snapped. Kain's jaws came down on the grey demon's neck like an anvil. With a spark and a twist the demon's headless body fell to the ground in a spray of gore. Limping from a severe injury, the other demon lunged at Kain, but the white wolf simply smacked it aside with a sweep of its massive paw.

Feeling now returned to Raziel's limbs. His claws clenched his swords. The falcatas' curved handles prevented them from slipping out of his hands in the chaos. As he started to get up he was distracted by a bellow coming from the nave.

Vorador had also escaped from the catacombs. Now that the battle between the demons and the Damesees soldiers had reached its conclusion, the black demon stood between them and the rest of the Stronghold, locked in ferocious battle with the black wolf. Colliding with the demon, Vorador grabbed it by the horns, thrusting its head up and away as the demon roared and coated the domed ceiling with fire. Vorador slammed the demon into a nearby column, causing pieces of the narthex to crumble.

Raziel stumbled to his feet, nearly falling to his knees, distracted from the fighting breaking out around him by a terrible pain in his wings. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the tips of his membranes were frayed and burned. He cringed as he folded them. Though the pain made his eyes water, fortunately, nothing seemed broken.

Except for _beguile_. The illusion had shattered completely after the grey demon chucked him across the crossing. Hopefully Kain was too distracted by the fight to notice how his appearance had changed.

He started to cast the spell when he suddenly heard a crash. The black demon had managed to grab hold of Vorador and brutally thrown him across the nave. Bowing its head like a bull, the black demon charged toward the fallen wolf. Abandoning the spell, Raziel charged into the fray.

He leapt onto the demon's head. Using its curved horn as a handhold, he slashed at the demon's right eye with his sword. The black demon howled and swerved off course, skidding to a stop in front of Vorador. Its head snapped back and Raziel found himself tumbling through the air. He tried to right himself but landed badly, hitting the ground heels first and falling onto his back. Pain exploded through his wings.

The floor shuddered beneath him as the giant wolf and the demon wrestled for control. Wresting the demon by the arms, Vorador tore at its chest and neck with his wolfish teeth. An orange light radiated from the back of its throat. Vorador ducked and balled one fist. Embers and smoke mixed with blood and belched impotently from the demon's open mouth as the wolf buried its paw in its stomach. The demon hunched over, wounded. Ceasing the opportunity, Vorador flanked it, grabbing it by the horn and giving its head a sharp twist that snapped the demon's thick neck like a wooden beam. The black demon wheezed blood and went limp.

Lying on his elbows, Raziel struggled to his feet. His whole back felt like it was on fire and his mind was clouded by chaos and old fears. _Not again. Please, not again._

While most wounds gave him little trouble, the wrong kind of fracture could cripple a vampire badly. A snapped rib could pierce internal organs like a stake. If a compound fracture in a limb was not set quickly it could heal improperly, rendering that limb useless, forcing the vampire to break and set it again or - and this was a desperate measure - amputate the limb entirely and wait for it to grow back. Raziel did not think he could stomach that, not with his wings. He still had flashbacks to the day Kain ripped them from his back whenever something unexpected brushed against them. In the space of a few minutes he had had them twice already: first when the grey demon grabbed him from behind and again when he landed on his back.

He flexed his wings. Though they hurt tremendously he was still able to move them, for the most part. Sheathing his falcatas, Raziel ducked behind a column and quickly re-cast _beguile, _trembling as he did so.

"Azrael!" That was Kain, back in his vampire form again. Raziel stepped out from behind the column. Kain stalked toward him with the Soul Reaver drawn. "You damned coward! I save your hide for the second time tonight and you run away!?"

Raziel backed away, hands on his weapons. Earlier Kain threatened to make him suffer once all of this was over. Now his moment of extendability had come. Before Kain could reach him, Vorador leapt between them and snarled at Kain. Thank goodness for that. "I was not hiding, you fool. That demon threw me over here while I was helping Vorador."

Kain looked to the dark wolf. Vorador answered his questioning gaze with a low growl. Kain reluctantly backed down.

The door leading to the chapel had been forced open. Apparently the warding spell was not powerful enough to keep out such a determined force. Raziel and Kain charged through with Vorador following on all fours. Remembering the way Vorador sneered at the Damesees' sword in the catacombs, it did not surprise him that Vorador choose to stay in wolf form. It clearly served him well.

The air was hot. There were no flames in the hall, but Raziel could hear the fire raging through the Stronghold. The burns he suffered from the grey demon's electric attack would not heal as quickly as ordinary wounds. His back ached with every step. He pushed through the pain. The elder Kain would teach him to endure agonies far worse than this. Worse was the cloud over his mind, which he was still fighting against.

Smoke thickened as they proceeded down the corridor, stinging their eyes. The heat was almost unbearable. Vorador snarled and refused to go any further. "We need to find an alternate route. Follow me!" Raziel shouted, leading them back.

"Do you know where you're going?" Kain barked.

"Better than you, I'd wager."

They found a place where the smoke was relatively thin and paused to allow Vorador to change back into his vampire form. With his thick fur, the flames made the Stronghold utterly intolerable. While Vorador transformed, Kain paced and brandished the Soul Reaver. In spite of Kain's wariness, they met with little resistance and soon reached the courtyard. Blood and ash littered the ground. Arching above the Stronghold like an enormous bridge, smoke and embers blew away toward the west.

Glancing at Kain, Raziel followed his gaze and saw the charred bodies of two hell-hounds. Kain was grimacing.

There were no archers posted, no guards in sight, and the roars of demons were far away. Vorador surveyed their surroundings with his eyes and ears. "We should leave now."

Raziel backed away. "You two go on ahead. I'm going back for Byron."

Kain sent him a faintly disapproving glare, as though he could not be bothered to muster the emotion to scold him for his foolishness. Raziel nodded in farewell. "Take care of yourself, Vorador. I'll see you soon."

...

Before Vorador could protest Azrael had already charged back into the Stronghold. The tips of his ears sank back. He did not know who this Byron was, but for Azrael to turn back now, he must be important. "Should we help him?" He glanced at Kain. The boy shook his head coldly.

"If Byron still lies in the Stronghold he is obviously a corpse. Let's go." Kain's body became cloaked in darkness. The darkness fragmented into a shrieking mass of leathery wings. As he dispersed into a flock of bats, Vorador spared a glance over his shoulder for the stranger who had helped save his life.

There was something familiar about Azrael. His voice, his mannerisms. There was something about his face, too. He reminded him unpleasantly of one of the leaders of the Sarafan Order during the height of their tyranny. That would make Azrael five or six hundred at the most, but his claws and, particularly, his wings indicated without a doubt that Azrael must be at least twice that age. They must have met before, but where?

He had a feeling he would find out.

Veiled by a green mist, Vorador's body evaporated and a murder of crows took to the skies from where he once stood, following Kain's flock.

…

Waves of heat washed over him, the tides of hell. The shirt Captain Hasek had acquired for him was no longer white; it was ashen and black in places where blood mixed with soot like a fowl stew.

"I could use your advice now, Mortanius," Raziel said. There was no response. He had tried calling for him several times since he left Kain and Vorador and received nothing in return. If the Death Guardian's spirit was tethered to the chapel and catacombs, then Raziel was on his own.

He jogged past the bodies of Damesees soldiers cooking in their suits of armor, making his way toward the prison level. The remaining humans must be evacuating, for the air was so thick with smoke that no mortal could breathe it for long without suffocating.

Something barked at him. He stopped, placing one cloven hand on his falcata, and turned to see an animal the size of a small pony loping toward him through the flames.

As it closed in on him, Raziel recognized Kain's craftsmanship. The hell-hound barked and paced back and forth agitatedly. It stopped and looked at him quite directly. As it trotted up to him he grimaced at the sight of its gouged left eye, of which nothing remained save a bloody crater. He tensed, expecting the injured animal to bite. Instead Kain's hound gripped his sleeve in its steel teeth and tugged urgently. Raziel snapped to his senses. It wanted him to follow.

Within minutes the hound led him onto the archery range overlooking the Great Southern Lake. Flames from the city reflected in the water. All around them, the range was littered with the bodies of Damesees soldiers. Two green demons, stuck full of arrows, lay dead or dying off to one side, and the corpse of a grey demon with a sword stuck in its chest faced the sky on the other side, near the pallid body of the man who killed it.

And there, chained to a post at the end of the firing range, was Byron, slumped over and nearly naked. Three crossbow bolts stuck from his chest, four in his kneecaps (two and two, respectively) and his legs splayed out. Raziel rushed toward the young vampire.

As he neared him, Byron lifted his head weakly. Blood seeped from his parted lips. Bile rose to the back of Raziel's throat. Byron's fangs and most of his front teeth had been ripped out or smashed. His chest was badly burned, as if someone had held a torch to it. The corners of his mouth twitched, quivering in a poor imitation of a smile. "You came… I didn't th-think…"

"I know," Raziel said softly, understanding. He crouched behind Byron. "Hold still. I'll have you out of these chains in a moment."

The chains bound Byron to the pole by his chest and arms, bruising his skin, secured with a heavy padlock. One look at it and Raziel knew he might not be able to get it off on his own. Taking the chain in one hand and the padlock in the other, he tried to pry it free. If he could not break the padlock then perhaps he could at least snap the chain. As he pulled his senses swam with the smell of Byron's blood. There was so much of it.

A wet, slopping sound momentarily attracted his attention. Glancing up, he saw Kain's dog licking Byron's face. Byron turned away from the dog. "M-Malek, n-no... Thank you."

Clever beast. He wondered if Malek lost his eye defending Byron from these demons. As Raziel let go of the padlock Byron tilted his head back, gazing at him with bloodshot eyes. "Wh-where's Kain?"

"Nevermind Kain," Raziel answered curtly, standing. One of these soldiers must have the key. While searching the bodies he spotted an iron key ring lying on the ground near the body of one of the green demons. He grabbed the ring and ran back to Byron, counting the keys. Six in all. Starting from the right, he tried the first one.

Byron tried to speak. His voice sounded heavy and sluggish as if he was underwater. "I'm s-sorry…"

Raziel ignored him. The first key was a dud. He clenched his jaw and tried the second.

"Th-they were t-t-too much…"

Damn, wrong again. He jammed the third key into the padlock. "Don't talk like that," he said as gently as he could.

"No…" Byron swallowed his blood. "Wh-when Kain finds out –"

"You did your best." Damn, no luck. Forth try.

Byron feebly shook his head, resigned to his fate. Distant screams pierced the walls of the Stronghold. Malek panted heavily, standing between them and the hellish Stronghold. Hot embers swarmed the night. On the fifth try, the padlock released its hold. Raziel removed it and unbound Byron's chains. A demon roared. Raziel moved to kneel beside Byron. "Can you stand?"

The young vampire tried to move his legs. His body shook with agony and a tiny whimper escaped his throat. Raziel grabbed one of the bolts and Byron screamed, "B-barbed!"

Raziel froze. He meant that the tips of the bolts were barbed behind the arrowhead. Pulling them out would tear muscle and nerve, doing more damage than if they were left in. Ordinarily, this would not have been a problem. He would have given Byron something to bite down on and told him to push through the pain while he removed the offending arrows, but Kain's early attempts at turning vampires did not appear to be as durable as Raziel's brothers. His wounds were not healing quickly enough. They were barely healing at all. Whether this was a consequence of youth, weakness, Kain's inexperience, or some combination of the three…

Something inside the Stronghold crashed. Raziel glanced over his shoulder as dust and smoke crept from the hall, as if a wall had collapsed. They could not afford to delay any longer. He tried to lift Byron, but when the young vampire groaned in pain he stopped and lowered him onto the ground. There was nothing for it.

He could carry Byron on foot, but with the Stronghold collapsing and Damesees in chaos they would not make it far. If he could fly they could escape across the lake – but Byron was too heavy. The wilderness would be equally unforgiving to his wounds. There was no one to help them out there. He looked Byron in the eyes.

"Ss's okay," Byron stammered, his mouth slowly filling with blood. "I unders-stand… Kain would have killed me either way… I t-told th-them where t-to find you… I just… d-didn't want to die… alone."

During Kain's war of conquest, Raziel had sent his kin to die and watched old and loyal friends fall to mere mortals. Death was a human thing. It was not supposed to touch them, yet it did. The best of them died with honor and courage. Once upon a time, if confronted with this tragic scene, he would have believed in his heart that Byron was dying with nobility, having valiantly given his life so that Vorador might live.

This time, it was different. Time streaming had altered his perspective.

From the day of Byron's birth, his death had followed him. Patient. Inalienable. Every hour of his life, merely another link in a long and unbreakable chain tethering him to the moment of his doom. The idea that one may die with honor paled beneath the pitiless eye of fate.

But one cannot say nothing. Raziel lifted Byron's head and gingerly kissed his brow. "It was an honor, Byron. Close your eyes and try to think of something pleasant."

Byron wheezed and closed his eyes. "S-smoke would be nice," he answered wryly.

Raziel remembered him standing near the shore of the Great Southern Lake, his back turned to Damesees and the Stronghold that would become his grave, his features flickering golden orange as he lit his pipe. He had offered to share but Raziel had declined. He thought it odd to smoke before a battle. That was only a few hours ago. Although he had not wished to be Byron's friend, he wished he had done things a little differently.

Placing his claws upon Byron's chest, he felt the young vampire's heart thump against his palm. He took aim. Swift as a viper, Raziel plunged his claws through Byron's chest and tore the life giving muscle free. Byron convulsed, then went still. Raziel crushed the heart. It was better this way.

He sprinted up the steps onto the battlements. Following close behind him, Malek galloped up the stairs and joined him at his side. The icy waters lapped against the wall of the Stronghold. Meanwhile, the heat of the flames blew Raziel's hair over his face. Malek barked at him as he flexed his wings. They seemed to have healed, for the most part. The membranes were still burned. Raziel cast Malek a sorry look.

He spread his wings and leapt from the wall. Though flying hurt him he managed to reach the other side of the lake without trouble and landed in a crouch. He did not want to strain himself by flying farther than was necessary, so he landed on the shore.

Raziel did not look back at the flaming city of Damesees. In his mind's eye he could already see it burning like Avernus. And once again, Raziel would journey back to Vorador's mansion alone, with blood on his claws. He swallowed hard. Perhaps his head would clear once he escaped this place.

As he started to leave he heard a familiar sound coming from the lake. He looked over his shoulder and squinted at something large and black paddling through the orange water, dwarfed by the great lake and the inferno beyond. Malek's barking rang across the lake. It must have leapt off the battlement after him. Raziel stood still for a moment, expecting the shape to sink beneath the surface soon, but Malek kept paddling. Raziel turned to face the Great Southern Lake. The dog kept coming, inexorably swimming for shore. He puckered his lips and whistled. The splashing and barking grew louder.

Several minutes passed on that black shore. A chill wind blew over him, a stark contrast to the hellish light. Kain's hound bobbed in the water. Raziel whistled again. The dog, no longer barking, lifted its head above the red waves and swam on. As Kain's hound neared the shore Raziel laid his falcatas on the shore and waded out to meet it where the water came up to his chest. He firmly grasped Malek's collar and helped hold his head above water. Panting heavily, Malek clambered onto land and laid down on its side, chest rising and falling and tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. It looked like it was grinning.

Raziel stood over the exhausted war dog and sighed. He supposed he could wait a little longer. "What a ridiculous beast..."


	19. Respite

**AN:** What's this? Two updates in less than 12 hours!? It's raining men!

If you're wondering why this chapter is so short... it's because the next one is going to be about 6,000 words. So. Have fun with that. *hides*

* * *

They followed the Western River, which fed the Great Southern Lake, away from Damesees. Beyond the Pillars of Nosgoth the river drove south. Here the smoke from Damesees finally died away, revealing the sparkling swath of Nosgoth's night sky.

Several small towns lay scattered around the Pillars, the largest of which was Ziegsturhl, a place Raziel knew well from the elder Kain's tales. There the human Kain was murdered by a band of mercenaries. Mortanius, alive in that time, would resurrect him using the Heart of Darkness, transforming Kain into a vampire and setting history in motion. Raziel did not know if Ziegsturhl was still standing in his current time period. He would need new clothes before he returned to Vorador's manor. There were other options. Even though the Pillars had collapsed, the towns, built to capitalize on pilgrims, no doubt remained.

Finding a place with a gentle current, Raziel stripped off his ruined clothes and waded into the water, eager to wash away the blood and ash. Sitting on the shore, freed of Kain's demon hide armor, Malek watched over him pensively.

The hell-hound's body was criss-crossed with battle scars and fresh cuts. Raziel had done his best to clean the wound on the left side of Malek's face when he took off his armor, but the dog's patience had limits.

Washing his wings with his hands was impossible. Ultimately, he settled on spreading his wings in the water and letting the gentle current do the work for him. The cold water made the raw wounds ache. He clenched his jaw and allowed the pain to pass over and through him with stoicism.

Vorador and Kain must have arrived back in Termogent by now, he thought, distracting himself from the pain. They could travel quite quickly by air. He wondered if Kain was missing his dogs. He still found it odd how, when they left Termogent two nights ago, Kain had listed the dogs he would take by name, rather than referring to them as a group. It would not have surprised him if Kain was more concerned about his dogs than about Byron. He was a strange man.

Stepping back onto shore, Raziel wrung his hair dry and slipped on his boots and undergarments. Unfortunately these were the only articles of clothing that he could stand to wear, apart from his belt, which was a necessity for carrying Moebius's ring and his falcatas, having been relatively unassaulted by blood, ash, claws and swords. He wore his Pillar Token around his neck by a chain.

But now the adrenaline of the fight had left him. Byron was dead. There was nothing he could do about that, but...

Grief could be strange. He had lost countless people he considered family. He barely knew Byron, yet his death cast over him a heavy melancholy.

What did he really know about Byron? He was once a soldier in the Army of Damesees. He was possibly Kain's oldest child, at this point in history. He enjoyed archery and smoking. He was born, he lived, and he died. He was anonymous, another passenger on the Wheel of Fate. He would be soon forgotten.

Except, of course, by Raziel. He could never forget the people he killed after he had looked them in the eyes. The taste of blood and ash on Byron's brow would be his forever to keep.

...

The passing hours found them traveling through the valley of two great mountain ranges carved out by long forgotten glaciers. From an unattended clothes line in a small village south of the Pillars, Raziel had stolen a simple pair of breeches, which came to his knees, and a long, dark brown cloak which he tossed around his shoulders so that it covered his upper torso and hung to his waist in the front, so that it would not bother his wings. The inside of the cloak was lined with soft wool.

Taking a break on a rocky outcropping, Raziel stargazed while Malek scampered off to do whatever it is dogs do. When Raziel sensed Malek returning he looked down and saw Kain's hound carrying the biggest raccoon he had ever seen in its steel jaws. Obviously, he was adjusting well to using only one eye. Malek dropped his kill on the ground and tore into it voraciously.

Raziel's eyes turned toward the north. Mountains rose high on the horizon, lost in the night, towered over by the dormant volcano Feuerzunge, once home to Dark Eden, and the future site of Kain's northern most smokestack, which would one day rise over Nosgoth like a toxic obelisk, and in a thousand years this lovely valley would be no more. The grass would brown and die. The insects would no longer sing through the night. The placid waters of the Lake of the Dead would collapse in upon themselves, giving birth to the hellish vortex of the abyss where, almost two thousand years from now, Kain's first lieutenant would experience death, but not for the first or last time. Nosgoth and Raziel bled history.

But as he sat on that outcropping, the ashes of Damesees were beginning to cool. The distant smoke died away, carried to far off lands. Somewhere, some unfortunate soul buried the dead. Meridian's army prepared to strike one final blow against the weathered and beaten armies of Willendorf. Demons stalked the land while animals and men gave birth to abominations. The people of Nosgoth lived and died and forgot the truths behind their legends.

Meanwhile, dust hung in the air of some vampire ruin, undisturbed. Ancient murals decayed. The Hylden drew their plans. Ariel's ghost mourned the fallen Pillars and Kain dreamed of conquest. The Sarafan Inquisitors slept in their coffins, ignorant of the unlife that awaited them. Deep down in some watery depths, his Benefactor bided endless time. Nosgoth seemed to hold her breath in anticipation of something. Raziel exhaled.

He watched the early morning fog creep down from the mountains. Licking the gore from his jowls, Malek climbed onto the rocks and curled up near Raziel's feet to rest. Field mice scampered through the hilly meadows of the valley, starting and stopping in an anxious, never ending search for food, wearily wary of silent killers on the wing.

They were not taking the most direct route back to Termogent. Far from it, in fact. While time stood still in Nosgoth's present, the past became Raziel's refuge.

He could retreat deeper into time; before the Pillars fell, when Nosgoth was pure and innocent. He wanted to wrap himself up in the gentle beauty of this world and sleep for centuries. The taste of life in the air was addicting, arresting. To return to Nosgoth's present was to return to an empty and unmarked grave. And then there was Kain.

Meeting the young Kain had given him a new perspective on his master. Though the elder and the younger were quite different in many respects, he saw the one in the other. The seat Kain kept for Vorador at his table during the empire was more than a gesture of honor, as he had once assumed. Regardless of what Kain claimed about his motivation for resurrecting Vorador, the look on his face when Vorador met him with a scowl told Raziel all he needed to know about the truth.

_You must trust me, Raziel. Our intentions - for Nosgoth, for our futures - are not so diverse._

_I must trust you... or?_

_I saved you from the Reaver once. I have no intention of imprisoning you within the blade._

_At least not until the moment it serves your plans to do so._

_Don't be a fool! I will not fight you._

_And that will be the prophesied heroes' battle? I win, because you will not fight me!?_

Raziel cringed. Kain had not wanted to fight him in Avernus Cathedral. He did want to give Nosgoth a better future. Although he could never forgive Kain for executing him and allowing the genocide of his clan, he could now see that, in his own twisted way, Kain was trying to redeem himself. He was not so naive as to believe that Kain's motivation for redemption was devoid of selfishness. Kain's mind worked on many levels.

He had always known Kain to be earnest to a fault. The elder Kain did not allow his emotions to rule him as they had in his youth, but he had never, ever been ashamed of them. Nor did he ever pause to consider the ethical implications of his actions. Once Kain determined what he desired no force on Nosgoth could dissuade him from taking it. Achieving the object of his ambition mattered more than malevolence or altruism. But if Kain did want redemption, perhaps he could appeal to that.

He could continue with his current plan: convince Vorador to repair the shattered Soul Reaver and take it into the present. When Raziel's Reaver met Kain's Soul Reaver a paradox would be created that would threaten to shatter Nosgoth's history forever. This was the ultimatum he had intended to present to the elder Kain: hand over the Soul Reaver or face oblivion. However, there was another alternative. He had considered it before, when he first conceived of his plan to go back in time in search of Vorador, but after the falling out he had with Kain in the Sanctuary of the Clans, he had assumed that Kain would be uncooperative.

Kain feared a war with the clans. If the Soul Reaver was all that stood between peace and Kain's fears, then why not make it a trade? Why not give him the Reaver Vorador repaired? It was an older version of the sword the elder Kain currently possessed. The time stream should not be at any risk if Kain used it. The clans would not know the difference and Raziel could return the younger Soul Reaver to its rightful place in history without any negative repercussions.

At the very least, he could move the younger Soul Reaver to a safe location, should he require it later. There was more at risk than Nosgoth's mere existence. Kain's plans for the future ran in opposition to the idealistic kingdom Raziel dreamed of. Convincing Kain to bow to his will could require some leverage.

It seemed a perfect plan - except that it relied on Kain's ability to be reasonable and forgiving. Kain would know what ill intentions Raziel had in mind should he refuse the peaceful alternative. Moreover, the discovery that his eldest son had been _using_ the powers bestowed upon him by the Pillars for his own machinations would displease Kain greatly. Even if he accepted the trade Raziel had no reason to believe Kain would not turn on him later. But then Raziel supposed he would always be watching his back around Kain, and if Kain chose to murder him and Nosgoth suffered for it then it was clear who bore the blame (not Raziel).

If what Mortanius said was true, if Kain was the only one capable of locating the other Guardians, then that would make him a valuable ally, for a time. Perhaps Vorador would know more about the role of Balance Guardian, and about the Guardians in general. He was rumored to know almost everything about Nosgoth's history. Knowing how far back Vorador's history went, Raziel was inclined to believe.

Malek snored at Raziel's feet. Tomorrow night they would strike out for Termogent. For now, they both deserved a reprieve.


	20. Blood, Steel and Legends

Vorador stood at the window in his bedchamber with a goblet of demon blood in his claws. He had retired early from Kain's premature celebration to brood by himself. Their ghostly laughter penetrated the floorboards. The old vampire sighed and stared at his severe reflection in the glass and the dark swamp beyond.

The stars twinkled above Termogent, lonely and unsympathetic. There had once been a time when Nosgoth's vampires were said to be as numerous as stars in the night. Now less than a dozen remained. Vorador was the last of Janos's bloodline. The Pillars were gone. It was only a matter of time. Vorador drank to unrecorded races and annihilated civilizations. Fireflies danced in the garden below.

Something caught his eye as he placed the empty goblet on his bedside table. He lifted the slip of paper and opened it. Scrawled on the page in charcoal were these words:

_Meet me at the tomb of Janos Audron. Come alone. - Azrael_

...

Crouched on the roof of Janos's tomb, Raziel watched through the trees as light from Vorador's window winked out. Raziel breathed in and stretched his wings slowly as if to match the angelic statue beside him. He tucked his long, black hair behind his ears and turned to the stars over Termogent. The pale moonlight draped Janos's tomb in silvery light. The cold surface of that celestial body reminded him of a place isolated in time and space, when and where he met the last Ancient vampire on a winter's morning.

He had good reason to be anxious. Although his visions assured him Vorador would successfully reforge the blade, the process made his skin prickle.

Hearing footsteps trampling down the overgrown path, Raziel stood atop the tomb. The green, bat-eared vampire glanced up at him as he approached with a slow and steady grace, despite the tangle of weeds and wild grass clawing at his feet. He stopped outside the tomb and folded his arms. "I thought we would meet again. Just who are you?"

"I have been many things," Raziel replied slyly. Vorador merely arched a brow. So much for subtle hints. "You already know my name. We met at this spot once before, seventy years ago, before Moebius's men took you away."

Vorador's ears stiffened critically. "You don't look like him."

"As I said, I have been many things. Now I am a vampire. Is that so hard to believe?" He paused for a beat, but Vorador's expression was unchanging. Raziel twitched his wings. He sighed, reaching for the brim of his cloak. "What about now?"

He pulled the cloak over his face, masking his mouth and the bridge of his nose, so that his eyes and wild black hair became his most prominent features. Vorador tilted his head, curling his upper lip, and slowly smoothed out his features. He scoffed, darkly amused. "These are strange times. What do you want?"

"I need you to repair a certain sword for me, one I believe you're quite familiar with. I have it here." Reaching behind the statue, Raziel produced a wrapped cloth. He hopped down from the tomb and approached Vorador, gently unwrapping the hilt of the shattered Soul Reaver. The blade had been shattered near the cross guard. No spectral flames issued from the eyes of the white jade vampire skull. The sword was inert.

Vorador's eyes waxed. His lips parted, revealing fangs without malice, momentarily paralyzed. He whispered, awed and quietly furious, "What in hell...?"

He reached for the hilt. As he cradled the remains of the Soul Reaver in his cloven hands his expression was like that of a father holding the lifeless body of his first born. He pierced Raziel with his eyes, searching. "Tell me what has occurred here."

"A paradox fragmented the blade. Almost two thousand years from now, Kain will shatter the Soul Reaver over the very being destined to inhabit it."

"You," Vorador accused, narrowing his eyes.

Raziel steadied himself with a deep breath. "Yes. This is the event that sets prophecy in motion. Everything that has occurred up until this point was made possible when this Soul Reaver was broken."

"And you expect me to repair it," Vorador growled, suspicious.

"Repairing the sword does not alter history as you know it. Only the future will be affected. This sword is vital to ensure that Nosgoth _has_ a future. I have the rest of the blade with me. Although it is broken in four pieces, I am confident that you can reforge it."

Vorador fell silent for a space, his eyes downcast. It was hard to pry him from his cynicism. "You expect me to perform miracles. Even if I was inclined to attempt this feat, I see no reason to assist you. If you are who you appear to be then Kain should not possess the Soul Reaver as he does, containing the Champion of our enemy. The prophecies have failed. I see no point in continuing this bitter charade when all is lost."

"The prophecies have merely been delayed, Vorador. Let me show you." He reached under his cloak, behind his neck, and undid the clasp on his chain, lifting the Pillar Token of the Time Guardian out for Vorador to see. Blinking, bewildered, Vorador touched the golden hourglass with the tips of his claws as though it might disintegrate. Raziel looked on with satisfaction. "You recognize it."

"I do. The last time I saw a vampire wear this..." He shook his head in disbelief and withdrew. "This cannot be. Kairos said nothing about this in the prophecies."

Raziel raised an eyebrow. That was a name he had not heard before. "Kairos?"

"The last Ancient Time Guardian and Nosgoth's greatest Time Streamer. Over four thousand years ago, he recruited Janos and I to forge the Reaver to end the Hylden war. He predicted the humans' rebellion against the vampire guardians, the appearance of the Hylden and Vampire Champions, and the Scion of Balance. How did you come to possess his Pillar Token?"

Raziel's mind reeled with questions. Why did Vorador not tell him of Kairos before? If Kairos predicted these events, why did he not also predict Raziel's resurrection at the Pillars? Did this Token not belong to Moebius? He forced himself to swallow his curiosity. There would be time for questions later. "I discovered it deep in the Oracle's Cave. When I picked it up, it taught me things about the time stream and how to use Moebius's devices."

"You realize how little faith I have in Time Streamers." Vorador glared at him severely.

Nodding, Raziel fastened the chain around his neck again. "I assure you our goals for Nosgoth are entirely different from Moebius. Although the Pillars are whole and uncorrupted in my time the land is on the brink of death. In order for Nosgoth to live again, the Reaver must be restored."

Vorador studied him for a long time. Finally he sighed, handing Raziel the hilt. "Well, I suppose you can't make matters any worse. What of Kain?"

"He needs to be kept ignorant."

"I thought as much," he said with bored dread. "I'll send him on some fool's errand. Meet me by the fountain in an hour. I'll take you to my workshop and see what I can do with this disaster." He tilted his head, his voice taking on a somber tone. "By the way, did you rescue that friend of your's?"

Raziel frowned, shaking his head. "He was too far gone."

Vorador glanced at the tomb behind them. Raziel felt his throat tighten slightly. For Kain's sake he needed to lie, yet he truth was so shameful that he found relief in deception. "I could not find the Heart of Darkness. I'm sorry, Vorador."

"What's past is past," Vorador answered with a disingenuous shrug. The grief was plain in his eyes. "It was a long shot to begin with. Thank you for trying. At least you allowed me to die with some hope in my heart."

...

One hour later, inside Vorador's workshop, Raziel laid out the pieces of the shattered Soul Reaver on Vorador's table. A cornucopia of tools hung from hooks on the wall: hammers of various sizes and shapes, many types of knives, hand saws, pliers large and small, and others which Raziel could not identify. Most where obviously intended for metal working while others were used for cutting hide or carving wood. The workshop smelled heavily of soot and sawdust with a faint hint of animal fat.

Vorador's workshop was in the garden. None of Kain's children would notice them here unless they happened to barge in, but Vorador had assured him that no such thing would happen by locking the door.

Hanging his coat on the wall, Vorador exchanged it for a black apron and rolled up his sleeves. He stepped aside so that Vorador could have a look at the broken blade. "These are all the pieces?"

Raziel nodded.

Vorador moved his hand over the sword, careful not to touch it. Even after all of its abuse the blade was still impossibly sharp. After a long pause, he frowned deeply and rubbed the creases in his brow. "The spirit is gone. I cannot restore the Soul Reaver, but..." He grimaced, hesitating. Raziel waited anxiously. "I can still sense some Ancient magic here. It may be possible to restore the Reaver to its original state as a vampiric blade. However, this will require a lot of blood. Not ordinary blood either. My own might suffice, but..."

"Use mine."

_"Your's?"_ Vorador glared at him contemptuously. "This sword was infused with the essence of Ancient vampires, the very source of the bloodline that sustained the Pillars. No ordinary vampire could satisfy it."

Raziel met his gaze. "The Reaver was forged for _me._ My blood will work."

At this, Vorador regarded him with narrowed eyes. After a long pause his stony expression began to clear. He stepped back and curtly pointed a claw at the Reaver. "Put a drop on the blade. Let's see what your blood can do."

Without hesitation Raziel held his hand over the blade. He pricked the underside of his index finger with his thumb claw and squeezed out a drop of blood. As his blood splashed onto the sword the steel hissed and sighed. The blood spread out and sank into the steel, which drank it up like a desert drinks rain, and waves of ruby light washed over the fragment.

Vorador watched all of this with a clinical air. Finally, he smirked. "So... you are who you say you are. The Prophicised Champion returns. I did not expect to see you again and looking so much like the Vampire Champion."

Raziel smiled sourly. "You lying bastard. You knew my destiny all along, didn't you?"

"Your destiny was to make a choice: to destroy the Scion of Balance and become the Hylden Champion or to become the Vampire Champion by destroying yourself. I could not know which choice you would make."

He bristled despite himself. "And yet you kept me ignorant..."

"I had to," said Vorador smugly. "You are the only creature in Nosgoth capable of making a true choice. For the rest of us, no matter how hard we struggle to break our bonds, fate always finds a way to keep us shackled. Without your ability to choose Nosgoth would have been destroyed. Your destiny was your's alone to discover. You of all people should understand the need to keep certain minds in the dark."

Raziel did not find Vorador's observation amusing. He had far better reasons for keeping the young Kain unawares than Vorador did for doing the same to him, so he believed. Vorador continued placatingly, "Janos and I were both ignorant, in a sense. Kairos gave us riddles to interpret - not detailed facts. Janos's interpretation was different from mine." He paused solemnly. "What do you intend to do with the Reaver?"

"I cannot tell you. The fate of Nosgoth hinges upon it," Raziel answered with a hint of spitefulness.

Unperturbed, Vorador looked down at the broken sword with a paternal kind of sadness. He sighed and reached for a dagger hanging from the wall. "Very well, if it means that much to you. The blood must flow from your heart."

As he did so Raziel unwound the cloak from around his shoulders and undid the clasps.

"I know. Give it to me." He held out his hand for the dagger. When he watched this scene unfold in Moebius's divining cauldron it was Vorador who pierced his heart. The idea had not sat well with him.

Vorador passed Raziel the dagger without protest, exchanging it for Raziel's cloak. He seemed mildly amused with his decision. "Alright. Try not to pass out."

The cold steel pricked his skin as he placed the dagger against his breast. He braced himself over the table, nerves starting to rise. "This seems a little extreme."

Vorador smirked without bite. "Great art has its price in blood and tears, Azrael."

"How reassuring," Raziel muttered. He flexed his clawed around the handle and inhaled deeply and slowly. He should not be afraid of a tiny dagger. The moment dragged on.

"Do you want help?" Vorador asked. Even his kind tone made the hairs rise on the back of Raziel's neck. He shook his head and tightened his grip.

Moving the dagger back and forth, he practiced his aim. If the first strike was too shallow or off target he would need to start again and it would be that much more difficult. He could almost hear Kain teasing him. His old master loved to try his limits with taunts. Though Raziel usually found that motivating, imagining his master standing over him as he held Vorador's dagger to his chest made him profoundly uncomfortable. He could only imagine what the elder Kain would say if he saw this. Probably:

_Cast him in._

Swallowing hard, Raziel relented and shamefully passed the dagger to Vorador. "Make it quick."

As Vorador stepped into position Raziel's heart hammered. It was not the dagger that caused him such unspeakable, irrational fear. The blood rushing through his ears sounded like the howl of the abyss. He clutched the edge of the table and tried not to vomit. He nearly flinched when he felt the old vampire's hand on his shoulder. "I'm surprised you trust me," Vorador mused.

Through sheer force of will, he managed to reply, "I've trusted my life to less honorable creatures. Do it."

Vorador took aim. Raziel shut his eyes. He was already putting all of his concentration into staying conscious. As the dagger pierced his chest he let out an audible gasp and his eyes flew open against his willing. The hilt of the dagger stuck out of his chest. Raziel's vision swam as blood spouted from the wound in a controlled stream. He could hear and feel the blood being telekenetically drained from his body by Vorador. As his blood danced over the hissing blade Raziel's vision darkened and his head spun. Numbness gathered at his extremities and made its way to his core.

Fear faded away as Vorador's workshop descended into total darkness. Calmness settled over him. He had felt this way before, when his soul entered the Reaver in the Vampire Citadel. The howling abyss evaporated. All noise died away, drawing him into silent, welcoming embrace. He wanted to simply... _No._ Not yet.

His body jerked automatically as Vorador pulled the dagger from his chest. He snarled through his teeth, surprised even by the dull pain. For a moment he could not sense his body at all, as if he existed only in that precarious state between wakefulness and dreams, but finally he felt himself being gently lowered to the ground and recognized Vorador's baritone in his ear speaking in a garbled tongue. He puzzled over this briefly before giving up. "The Reaver?"

Vorador chuckled, "I'll take that as a yes. Rest here a moment."

Something cool touched the back of his head. The wall? The wool cloak settled over his shoulders, soft and reassuring. He blinked. Everything looked black, but not uniformly so; a mass of mute, buzzing flies. He moved his claws along the ground, feeling it solid beneath him, yet his senses insisted that everything was feathery and wobbling.

Unlike humans and fledglings, Raziel was at an age when he could survive with minimal blood in his veins. Although, this remained a highly unpleasant experience. Every part of him ached. He felt weak and terribly hungry. He blinked again, several more times, struggling to clear his vision. Shapes and dim colors revealed themselves. As Vorador's face came into focus he saw the old vampire smiling at him. Faintly, Raziel asked, "Is it...?"

"Good as new. Here." Vorador offered him a cloven hand. After trying and failing to stand up on his own, Raziel clasped the offered hand in his claws. Vorador to pulled him to his feet. He held onto the old vampire's shoulder to steady himself as his vision faded out again and slowly returned.

The Blood Reaver's steel gleamed as brightly as the day he first laid eyes upon it. There was no otherworldly glow in the eyes of the skull cross guard, but the blade itself hummed with energy. Red waves glided across the blade, as if still savoring the taste of Raziel's blood.

"Of course, it's not as powerful as the Reaver Kain has," Vorador said.

Raziel tried his voice again. He croaked, "That's alright. Thank you, Vorador."

"You should come back to my manor to recover your strength. You won't get far like this."

The genuine concern in Vorador's voice surprised and unnerved Raziel. "You're too kind, but there's no need..."

"You'll pass out soon."

"I've been in worse messes than this. Besides, I can't allow Kain's children to see me without my disguise. If they saw my wings it could put all my plans in jeopardy."

"We will go to my chamber. Even Kain is not so arrogant as to intrude there without my permission."

He did not actually intend to leave this soon, but going into Vorador's manor sounded far too risky. He was not sure what would happen if he did. "I can't."

"I insist."

"I've already imposed on you too much. I can rest here."

"Ridiculous. You need blood, not rest." Vorador narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed. "Are you always so reluctant to accept help?"

"I don't recall any gratitude from you," Raziel replied smartly.

Vorador sighed. "If you think I'm going to allow you to stumble off with _my_ sword in this state, you're sorely mistaken, friend."

Raziel laughed weakly. He tried to think of something to say to that, but his thoughts kept staggering away from him. He wondered what Janos would say if he could see them like this. He could almost hear the concern in the old vampire's voice from the first time they met. It melted his heart. "Very well, you old toad. But..." he sobered himself, "we must leave the Reaver here. If Kain gets too close to it with his Soul Reaver it will cause a distortion Kain is sure to notice."

Although Vorador's mansion was large enough that the the Reaver could be housed there without incident, Raziel did not want to take that chance. Viewing the time stream was so taxing to his psyche that he could only view it in short fragments. He knew that Vorador would help him re-forge the Reaver and that he would return to the present with the completed sword. The detour was one of the things he had not anticipated.

"That won't be a problem," Vorador gingerly disagreed, letting Raziel lean against the wall while he wrapped up the sword. "I've sent Kain to the ruins of Malek's Bastion to retrieve some worthless Sarafan relics. He won't be back for at least two days."

Raziel awkwardly wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, letting it hang in the front. He placed one clawed hand against it, afraid it would fall off, although in reality it was quite secure. It was Raziel who was in danger of falling. He steadied himself against the wall. "Thank you, Vorador. You're too kind..."

...

The pleasures of simple conversation had eluded Raziel for too long. Everywhere he turned he found himself surrounded by foes, manipulators, and untrustworthy people. When Vorador returned to him with two full wine bottles of preserved blood, the old vampire had started chatting with him about his technique for keeping human blood fresh and his tempered hope that Kain would begin doing it himself so that he could stop wasting perfectly good human slaves, whom might supply them with blood for years if they kept them alive, Raziel had at first been resistant to the conversation. Had Vorador not also insisted on cleaning and sharpening the Blood Reaver while it was here, he would have tried to escape as soon as possible. Then Vorador spoke of Kain and how irresponsibly the young vampire treated the Soul Reaver and slowly but irresistibly Raziel was pulled into the conversation.

Now the cleaned Blood Reaver was drying on a sword rack atop Vorador's bookshelf. Raziel was half-way through his second bottle of blood and trying desperately to convince himself that he needed to be on his way soon, although there was truly no hurry.

Vorador stood next to the bookshelf, relaxed and thoughtful, the usual gloom cut through by the opportunity to once more handle the sword he had forged. He seemed to find their conversation stimulating, too, perhaps because they were closer in age than the young Kain and he, though Vorador was still Raziel's elder by a long stretch. Raziel sat in a chair at Vorador's desk, turned to face the older vampire. Candles lit the room in a warm and gentle light. The atmosphere was oppressively comforting.

While they talked Vorador mentioned the magical ring in Raziel's belt pocket. The observation unnerved him, for he had not shown it in front of Vorador before. Vorador smiled reassuringly and explained that he had a sixth sense for such objects after his apprenticeship to the Ancient swordsmiths and enchanters. Without even laying eyes on it he deduced that it was a traveler's ring, a magical object that could transport the user to and from a particular waypoint in space. He wondered aloud why Raziel was not wearing it.

Moebius's ring had been forged for human hands. Raziel's cloven fingers were much too big. To his surprise, Vorador offered to fix the ring for him. Ordinarily he would have declined, but Vorador's geniality affected his judgement more potently than any spell or toxin. After studying the traveler's ring a moment Vorador softened the loop over a candle and used telekensis to bend the silver. Noticing the twinkle of intrigue in Raziel's eyes, Vorador began to speak at length about how he had taken up silversmithing and goldsmithing after mastering the art of sword making and the simple yet exquisite pleasure he felt from creating a thing of beauty. It sounded like a lovely way to pass the centuries. Raziel regretted that he never thought of making things during the lazy golden years of the empire. He wondered if he would ever again find the time to learn such an art.

Once the ring cooled Raziel found that it fit perfectly over his secondary finger. It was inconspicuous, too. If he ever needed to return to the Oracle's Cave quickly he could now do so with merely a thought. This could be valuable.

Next Vorador asked him about the future. He wanted to know how Kain would restore the Pillars. This put Raziel ill at ease, but he supposed he could tell Vorador a few things in exchange for his hospitality. The entire experience was so bizarre and depressing that he did not feel entirely comfortable talking about it, but Vorador's patience and even-temper soon put his mind at ease.

Naturally, he kept certain details of the story to himself, such as the nature of his relationship to Kain, how he came to be in the past, the location of the Heart of Darkness, and Janos's resurrection. There were other things he did not want to admit for their price in pain: his execution, his Benefactor, the genocide of his clan, his witness to Janos's death and murder of his Sarafan self, the centuries of sanity bending imprisonment in the Spectral Realm, and all that sprang from guilt, grief and regret. He stuck to the facts, those he could give.

"The last thing I remember after being absorbed into the Soul Reaver is waking up at the foot of the restored Pillars in Nosgoth's present. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you," Raziel finished. It might have soothed him a little to share in Vorador's grief, but the omission was necessary. He feared that he had already indulged himself too much. Still, he felt grateful to have this small weight lifted off his shoulders. Now that Vorador knew some of these events Raziel did not feel so alone in his suffering.

"And how long until these future events come to pass?" Vorador asked, looking at him directly.

"A long time, I'm afraid. I cannot tell you if you will live to see the Pillars again. I tried to find you in Nosgoth's present, but you eluded me."

"That may change."

Raziel shook his head. "Your ressurection does not alter history. History would only have changed if Kain failed to bring you back." He paused to drink, taking the time out to compose his thoughts. The longer he lingered here the more difficult it became to leave. Now was the time to get down to business. "There is something I need to ask you. How much do you know about the Pillar Guardians?"

"I was raised in the Vampire Citadel from the time I was a child. I know as much as there is to know."

"You said that the token I have belonged to Kairos. Why did I find it in Moebius's divining chamber?"

"Each Guardian inherits his or her Pillar Token from the previous Guardian. Since Guardians must die before their successors are born, the Pillar Tokens serve as capsules of the previous Guardian's knowledge, to provide novice Guardians with a tutor, of sorts. They also aid in binding the Guardians to the Pillars."

So the hourglass had been passed down through all the the Time Guardians. There was still a missing piece to this puzzle. "What about Kain?"

"His soul is his Pillar Token. Unlike the other Guardians, the Balance Guardian inherits no knowledge from his predecessor. He must be taught by the Circle."

This made something catch in Raziel's throat. So Kain knew nothing about his position? Would Vorador teach him? And why would the Balance Guardian be less equipped to fulfill his role than the others? Was Balance not the most important Pillar? Raziel hardly knew where to begin. He thought back to what drove him to ask these questions in the first place: the memorial in the Hall of Guardians beneath Damesees. "The first human Balance Guardian, Elijah, he was a warrior like Kain?"

The subject of Elijah brought a scowl to Vorador's lips. "Yes. He and Lysander aided Moebius and Mortanius in slaughtering the last vampire Guardians. They led rebellion and escaped the Vampire Citadel thousands of years ago, along with most of our slaves, to create the Sarafan Order. They were traitors."

"They only wanted freedom," Raziel pointed out. While he despised them for blotting out the history of the Ancients, transforming the true architects of the Pillars into myths and monsters, he disliked the black and white tone taken by Vorador almost equally. Even the Hylden war could hardly be called a battle of good verses evil.

"That may be so - but the consequences of their rebellion affected all of us when the Pillars' fall."

"Kain may take the blame for that."

Vorador sneered as one would at a rude child. "That event has deep roots. It would take more than a single man to topple the Pillars, Azrael."

Raziel momentarily lowered his eyes. While it was true that the fledgling Kain had been manipulated by Moebius and others, he still found it difficult, even painful, to disentangle Kain from holding sole responsibility for the Pillars' collapse. Even when he wanted Kain on his side, part of him would never stop hating him; clinging to Raziel like a parasite, it hunted for things to feed on, such as Kain's refusal to sacrifice himself for the greater good, the callous execution of his first born, and the genocide of his clan, fueling the loathsome engines of his heart. He struggled - not to silence them - to keep their churning slow and steady. To feel a certain level of disdain and distrust for Kain seemed beneficial to his continued existence.

Returning to the subject at hand, Raziel continued, "And Ariel, the last Balance Guardian before Kain, her title was Empath. What does that mean?"

"A healer. Specifically, one who deals in spiritual rather than physical scars."

Raziel's brow furrowed. "There were two others. Sana and Phoebe - Rune Weaver and Cleric. How can the Balance Guardians fill such wildly different roles when the rest of us are bound to our Pillars?"

"All Guardians are born with an innate talent for serving the Pillar they represent. When Moebius and Mortanius were taken to the Citadel as children they already demonstrated an intuitive understanding of the schools of magic they would master as the Time and Death Guardians. The Balance Guardian is unique in this regard. Unlike the others, he is born with the potential to master any school of magic. It is his responsibility to gather all the members of the Circle and balance out their powers."

Vorador spread his arms. "When you balance a scale you add weights to one side. Sometimes creating balance requires many weights - sometimes few. In order to maintain Balance in Nosgoth, the Balance Guardian must become whatever the Circle needs most, be it a warrior or a healer. Sometimes his job is to lead the Circle. At other times he is merely a keystone binding the Circle together. I believe that is why Kain was chosen. A peaceful Guardian of Balance would be of no use during these bloody and chaotic times.

"The Scion of Balance was always destined to be a powerful warrior. His destiny is a double-edged sword. While Kain possessed the strength and will to destroy the last of the human Guardians - with the Circle destroyed, these same traits place him in danger of becoming a tyrant. You may find his arrogance more a curse than blessing."

"Do you mean that Kain should die once his destiny is complete?" Although he had been weighing the possibility of killing Kain he always considered it a last resort, especially now.

"I should say that is up to you. That is what this is all about." With that Vorador gestured to the Blood Reaver. The sense of calm vanished in an instant as Raziel's muscles all coiled at once and he became palpably aware of his surroundings. Of course he should have realized that Vorador brought him here for less than benevolent reasons.

"I encourage you not to speculate about my motives," he warned.

Vorador looked slightly amused. He soon composed himself, crossing his arms behind his back and strolling across the room. The gesture placated Raziel. He felt much better with Vorador's hands away from the Blood Reaver. "Even if I knew what you were planning, I would not tell Kain. It is not my place to meddle in destiny. I see no reason to concern myself with Kain's ultimate fate. I assume he can take care of himself."

"Kairos wrote the prophecies. Did he say what would happen after the Pillars were restored?"

"Yes, but I do not think that will help you." He curled his lip, troubled. "You see, the Pillars were never supposed to fall according to the foretellings of Kairos. Nor do I believe Janos Audron was meant to die, unless Kairos omitted it. Either Kairos deliberately gave Janos and I false information, or someone or something has been perverting the time stream."

That might explain his tangled history. The prophecy surrounding the purification of the Reaver and the Pillars seemed too contrived and counter-intuitive to be as intended.

Raziel hesitated. There was something else he needed to say. "Vorador, you know that Kain is sorely in need of a good teacher. His destiny is of vital importance to the future."

Vorador considered this. "His ambition makes him dangerous. I want no part of his empire," he spoke that word with contempt.

"I know. He is going to commit atrocities, wage wars, and worse. He will betray and disappoint you again and again. He will make you regret that you ever knew his name. But because of him, the Pillars will rise and Nosgoth will be safe from the Hylden." He steeled himself, for this next part physically hurt. "And I know that somewhere, deep down, Kain has a spark of... of _something._ Something contrary and genuine. I know that you have seen it, too. Please nurture it."

Vorador fell into thoughtful silence, his eyes drifting over the room which Kain had restored and kept safe and solitary for over half a century. "Alright, Azrael. I trust your judgement."

"Thank you, Vorador. I know that you will teach him well." Raziel stood, removed his falcatas and laid them on Vorador's table in their sheaths. "I want you to have these. They're of no use to me now, though they've served me well these past few days. You will find nothing like them in this time period. I hope that in some small way they can make up for everything you lost during Moebius's attack."

"Nothing can ever replace what I have lost. But thank you." He smiled sadly. As he lifted the large falcata he added, "This reminds me, you're going to need a sheath to carry the Reaver. With all the demon hide Kain has collected I can make you something worthy of carrying my sword."

"Please, you've already done too much for me," he said, wary of further deception.

"Nonsense," Vorador said harshly. "Janos dedicated his life to the restoration of Nosgoth. I'll be damned if you leave here ill-equipped. In the mean time, there is something you should see. Hold still."

Vorador's clawed hands touched Raziel's temple. He tried to move away, but the old vampire was too quick for him. Raziel's eyes dilated. A bright light filled his vision. Shapes and colors materialized in the center of the light and Raziel felt himself flying. As his vision came into focus he realized that he was seeing the Vampire Citadel as only birds could. A strange sensation swept through his bones. He banked, soaring upward and upward toward the balcony of a great tower effaced with a grand clock. Vorador's deep voice guided him through the haze, "This spell will allow you to pass through the fog that clouds the Lake of Tears. Go to the Vamprie Citadel and find the tower of Time Guardian Kairos. His tower is only reachable by flight. I may not know how or why you were freed from the Reaver, but if there are answers to these questions, you will certainly find them there."

Raziel staggered as the vision faded. He braced himself against the nightstand and touched his temple. He felt different somehow, as though a veil he had not been aware of had been lifted from his eyes. He looked at Vorador questioningly. "What do you expect me to find?"

Vorador took the Reaver from the stand with a shrug. "If there is more to your destiny than I know, that knowledge must have been left for you alone. I doubt your resemblance to the Ancients is an accident. I should have the Reaver ready by the time you return." He paused at the door and spared Raziel a parting glance.

Alone in Vorador's chamber, Raziel slumped into his chair and hung his head over his knees. He supposed he only had himself to blame. If he was more cryptic he could have escaped before Vorador thought to send him away. He had no interest in following his so-called destiny. To hell with it!

On the other hand, there might be something of value in Kairos' tower. Perhaps he constructed his own Chronoplast, which could give him a vital advantage if he ever found himself unable to access the one in the Oracle's Cave. He turned to gaze out Vorador's window for a long space.

* * *

**AN:** Kairos was originally named Chronos and was first mentioned in chapter 4 of Drabbles of the Damned. However, after doing some research, I decided that Kairos was a much better name for him. Look it up!

PS - See the news on my profile for 5.13.13.


	21. Unstuck in Time

An impenetrable mist covered the Lake of Tears. As Raziel flew into the white banks the mist swirled and parted before his eyes, forming a tunnel through which he could fly. The mist had a magical quality to it. Once he reached the other side he found that he could turn back and see clearly out across the lake. But from the outside, the Vampire Citadel was invisible.

The Citadel was built on what had once been a steep mountain rising out of the middle of the lake. Time and other unseen forces had slowly chipped away at the stone edifice. Seeing how much the Citadel had decayed in a century, Raziel feared nothing would remain two thousand years from now.

But one part of the Citadel remained woefully in tact; the circular council chamber where Raziel and Janos witnessed the Pillars' collapse one hundred years ago. Raziel flew in for a landing. Although this place brought back bitter memories, he was compelled to visit the site of Janos's fall.

Here was where it all happened. The Pillars shattered, sending out a shock wave that rocked the Citadel to its core, and the barriers between the realms themselves bent, allowing a powerful Hylden spirit to slip through and possess the body of Janos Audron, the last Ancient vampire. Scorch marks and cracks littered the ground like battle scars. There was no blood, not even a single black feather. Standing in the center of the conflict, Raziel's shoulders felt heavy. He moved to the collapsed wall where Janos had stood as the Pillars fell, moments before the Hylden took control. The tops of the shattered Pillars were barely visible above the treeline. "Janos..."

Again, he felt that strange compulsion to leave a marker on this spot, to say to Nosgoth that he alone remembered what terrible event occurred here, who had been lost, and to show that he cared. He lingered there for a short time before turning his gaze toward the Citadel towers. Jutting off the side of the mountain, a clock tower rose above the citadel, its hands frozen at the final hour. Raziel leapt into the air.

Piles of debris blocked what may have once been the entrance to the tower on the ground below. As he circled the tower, Raziel could find no way inside, unless he attempted to phase through the barred windows in the Spectral Realm. When he reached the top of the tower he finally spotted a pair of doorways located on either side of the moon dial above the clock face. He circled several times, adjusting his angle of attack carefully until he was able to reach the landing. His boots slid on the frost bitten ground.

Inside the clock tower, immediately behind him, Raziel was able to look out through the hazy yellow glass face of the clock tower and view the entirety of the Vampire Citadel. An enormous crack cut through the glass like a lightning bolt. According to Janos, this fortress had withstood one thousand years of war with the Hylden and continued to thrive until Moebius's human led rebellion, when the last of the vampire Guardians were killed and the humans claimed the Pillars for themselves. These walls had stood silent for thousands of years. Turning his back on the view, Raziel continued deeper into the clock tower.

Passing under an archway he found himself standing in a vast room. Small icicles clung to the ceiling. In the center, standing upon an obsidian pedestal, stood a massive golden armillary sphere, a three-dimensional map of the heavens glistening with ice and frozen moss. A few pieces of the elliptic had cracked and small fragments of tarnished gold littered the ground. Overall, the sphere was in surprisingly good condition for its age. The fact that this golden sphere was still mostly in one piece indicated without a doubt that Raziel was the first to behold it in some time. The mist effectively kept bandits out.

Three murals adorned the walls of the the eight walled chamber. Although much of the paint had faded, enough remained for Raziel to recognize them. To his left and right were murals depicting the Vampire and Hylden Champions locked in battle and the dual outcomes of their fight. In one the Vampire Campion pierced his adversary with the Soul Reaver. On the opposite side, the Hylden Champion impaled his opponent with a flaming sword.

Behind the armillary sphere, a more gigantic mural depicted the Scion of Balance as an Ancient with white hair, blue skin and black wings holding the Soul Reaver enveloped in flames, the symbol of the Spirit Forge worn upon his brow like a crown. This was Kain's destiny. Raziel circled the armillary sphere for a better view of the mural.

He had not noticed the white hair before. That was a curious detail given that the Scion of Balance portrayed here clearly had nothing else in common with Kain, from his wings and blue skin to wise and serene gaze. Who was responsible for these murals, Kairos or some future interpreter?

Raziel glanced at the murals of the two Champions. Beneath each mural stood an arched doorway leading to a winding stairwell. If this was a clue, did the author of these murals expect him to choose a side?

Neither side looked particularly appealing. The Ancient vampires were worshipers of his Benefactor, like the humans of Erste Stadt. Raziel intended to put a stop to their false religion as soon as possible. As for the Hylden, while they appeared to be the victims in the Ancients' war for renouncing that loathsome Parasite, their steadfast commitment to vengeance, to the point of destroying Nosgoth herself, thoroughly disgusted him.

But Raziel knew his audience. He descended the stairs on the right, beneath the Vampire Champion.

The staircase spiraled down into the tower. On the way down he passed several landings leading to other rooms and hallways, but these contained nothing of value. After descending three flights Raziel found himself at a dead end. There was another staircase across from him leading upward, part of which had collapsed and was now inaccessible. The only other objects in the room where a golden frame in the shape of a horse shoe crowned with a strange jewel and in front of that a large blood jasper orb with red impressions on either side in the shape of cloven hands. Bronze tendrils turned green with age supported the orb. Intricate designs decorated the golden frame, knots and wings. Raziel cautiously approached the device.

As a wraith, he encountered several devices similar to this one in the vampire ruins scattered over Nosgoth. Once activated they created portals leading to various Reaver Forges, where he imbued the wraith blade with elemental powers and, eventually, baptized the blade with the spirits of the Balance Guardians themselves, purifying it. Raziel wondered where this one led. With the wraith blade no longer in his possession he was uncertain of how to activate it, until he glanced at the floor. What he saw caused him to take a step back.

An ouroboros was elegantly engraved into the floor; a serpent devouring its own tail. The symbol carried personal significance. It represented an allegory for his cyclical destiny. This doorway was an open invitation addressed specifically to him.

Raziel approached the pedestal. He placed his cloven hands into the red carvings on the sides of the orb. They fit snugly. Unsure of what to do next, he closed his eyes and concentrated as if to call upon the wraith blade. Something within the orb came to life and white light swirled in the golden doorway. Blinking and squinting his eyes, Raziel watched as the currents of light slowed and began to pulsate like a heartbeat. His body cast a long shadow. He put his hands by his sides, drawing a deep breath.

He came this far on Vorador's word. There was no point in turning back. The time had come again to meet destiny.

* * *

_Somewhere Beyond Time_

* * *

A familiar sense of displacement greeted him as he stepped through the gate. The length of his stride seemed to span for miles, leading him toward a gathering light. As he neared the exit his eyes closed against the glare. Static prickled his skin as he stepped through and arcane magic washed off of him, cool and hot at the same time. He blinked hard. Once his vision returned to normal he found himself standing inside of a vast egg-shaped chamber.

This time the sensation of vertigo did not leave him as he exited the portal. In fact, vertigo was not precisely the correct term. Something had been thrown wildly off balance but not his legs. He tried to focus on his surroundings, hoping to discern the source of the problem or put it out of mind.

The gold and marble walls sloped upward towards a gigantic clockwork planetarium, ten times the size of the one he saw in Moebius's Chronoplast and a thousand times more intricate. The floors were constructed out of some semi-translucent stone with a faint tint of greenish-blue. Beneath him, brass gears turned, springs coiled, pendulums swung, and a vast machinery ticked away, the penultimate fusion of science and magic churning the aether. In the center of the circular room, arcane energies glided across a shimmering, black pool. Energy rose from the inky waters in a colorful arch, bleeding jade, amber, amethyst, jasmine, and lapis, and floated down into the pool. A winged figure stood at the edge of the pool.

Raziel felt as though he had been struck in the chest by a hammer. The feathery wings of the Ancient laid across his backs in great sheets of shimmering black, the tips of his flight feathers almost touching the floor. His skin was a light blue. Standing with his back to him, he wore long white robes with a sash of black and gold draped across his shoulders.

The figure turned to him. He could not make out his features in any detail. He was tall and thin and his hair was black and cut short. Even that was enough make his heart race. "Ah, Raziel. Welcome. I have been awaiting your arrival."

The figure spoke with a distinct accent that conjured memories of a lonesome balcony draped in snow. Winter smells filled the air. He swallowed hard - swallowed razors. If he said nothing maybe he could stay in the safety of this moment forever.

But in spite of his longing, it was not within him to linger. Raziel had always been defined by constant forward motion. He could not resist the pull. He needed to know. "Janos?"

Raziel's voice was a mere squeak. He almost did not recognize it. The moment passed with cruel brevity. "I am afraid not," the Ancient vampire replied in cool tones. "My name is Kairos. I am the last vampire Guardian of the Pillar of Time."

Raziel was overcome with a terrible sinking feeling. "Is Janos here?"

Kairos tilted his head. "Here? Where is here? When are we? In answer to your question, young Time Streamer: no, he is not _present_ with us. Please, come closer."

Hesitating, Raziel joined Kairos on the edge of the pool of lights. What appeared to be water from a distance was another substance entirely. No words in known language came close to reflecting the true nature of this substance. It was _like_ water in the way that syrup is _like_ water. It was the blackest substance Raziel had ever seen yet it shimmered through with colors like liquid blue gold reflecting every color of the rainbow. Occasionally the light would strike a ripple at the correct angle and it would briefly flash a color unlike anything Raziel had seen. Try as he might he could not describe it accurately. Kairos gestured into the pool.

"We stand outside of time. Outside this chamber the time stream rushes around us. From our current perspective, Janos is alive, dead, and waiting to be born. He is everything he ever will be and everything he is not." A cloven hand touched his shoulder and gently urged him back from the precipice. "Do not gaze too deeply, Raziel. I can see that you feel a deep bond with my friend, Janos. Fate is indifferent, unforgiving. While you possess the mental fortitude to gaze into the rivers of history, it may still destroy you. Until you learn to control your emotions you must be wary of what you seek."

Raziel glared at Kairos. "My emotions do not control me."

Kairos brushed off his protest without comment. He folded his claws. "You have questions."

"Do you have answers?" Raziel quipped.

Kairos smiled knowingly. "You have been deceived before. That is the nature of your destiny. Many forces have sought to control you, yet you have defied them all. That is why you are here."

"Vorador said I should come," he replied, eying Kairos with suspicion. This was beginning to feel like one of Moebius's traps.

"Vorador is observant. Unidealistic. He has a way of seeing people for what they are rather than what he wants them to be. It is unfortunate that Janos does not share his acumen. If he had, he might have saved himself. So it goes." He shrugged. "Vorador knows the importance of your destiny. He correctly deduced that I would leave information for you, just as he correctly deduced the meaning of my prophecies, but he has no idea that I have been waiting to speak to you in person. From your point of view, I have been inside this chamber for over four thousand years." He smiled again, irritatingly serene. "You may find it helpful to ask pertinent questions."

Raziel bristled. "I expect you already know what I will ask."

Kairos smiled placidly. His eyes told a different story. "I know that you like to believe in your illusions of control."

"I see we're going to get along swimmingly," Raziel sighed, already losing patience. "Tell me where we are."

"This chamber is called the Anatopism. It is one of a kind. With the help of the Circle, I built this chamber in the hope of finding a way to end our long war with the Hylden." He gestured to the pool. "Here, freed from the limitations of earthly realms, we may gaze into _deep time._ From this vantage point we may witness the entire span of Nosgoth's history with perfect clarity. Due to the nature of this chamber, an individual may only pass through once. To do otherwise would create a fatal paradox."

Raziel furrowed his brow. "Then this chamber is being used for the first time."

"In a manner of speaking," Kairos replied thoughtfully.

"By you," Raziel clarified. "And a second time, by me, yet we're meeting here at the same time."

Kairos nodded, looking pleased. Raziel did not.

"Then you must already know the consequences of this war."

At this Kairos hesitated slightly. His eyes lowered into the pool. "That is true. Although I am glad that our war will soon come to an end, it is far too late to prevent the catastrophe laying on the horizon. At least with the Reaver Nosgoth will have a chance."

"Has it been forged already?"

Kairos chuckled. For the first time Raziel heard a faint crack in his voice. He did not know what it meant. Raziel glanced into the pool. "Tell me what happened to the time stream after Kain restored the Pillars."

"The Wheel is still turning."

"What does that mean?" Raziel demanded, struggling to mask his frustration with this obtuse Time Streamer.

"History is complex, Raziel. Allow me to return to your first question: what is freewill?"

"An illusion." He still did not believe that. It was merely the answer Kairos was seeking from him.

"Perhaps. Let's look at an example. Imagine that you are traveling toward a city when you come to a fork in the road. Do you go left or do you go right?" Kairos held up a single claw. "Now consider that both paths lead to the same destination. One may be longer or shorter, one may be more fraught with danger, but these peculiarities do not matter in the grand scheme of history. You reach your destination regardless of the choice you made. If you want to change your destination, you must abandon the road all together. That is freewill."

Raziel tolerated the drawn out example with his arms crossed. "But what if the roads lead to different destinations?"

"So it may seem. You wish to take the Soul Reaver from Kain so that you can return it to Avernus Cathedral - to its rightful place in history. If the Soul Reaver is lost, Nosgoth comes to a close. You have not considered that returning it may not necessarily resolve your dilemma. You will only postpone the inevitable."

This nearly brought Raziel to his limit. He snapped, "How so?"

"That is what you are here to discover. Please, take your time. As long as you remain in this chamber you will have all that you need."

Raziel took a deep breath. He turned as if to pace, stopped and looked back. "What will happen when I leave?"

"You will return to the era from whence you came. Please, relax."

He closed his eyes and turned away to run a hand through his hair. This was too much. He thought he only needed to retrieve the Soul Reaver from Kain. Then he could focus on his personal goals, such as rescuing Janos Audron from wherever - or whenever the Hylden were holding him. The incessant ticking of gears and cogs resonated in his very bones. He swallowed hard, turning to the Ancient. He did not find Kairos's eyes as kind as those of his old friend. They were as cold as fate itself. His posture sank. "I am beyond exhausted, Kairos."

The Ancient Time Guardian looked at him curiously, like a specimen. His eyes were like walls closing in on him. He had no choice but to comply. "What is my new destination?"

"To destroy the Elder God. Once we called It our Oracle. To you, It was Benefactor. Its true name is Jormungand, Primordial Chaos. Look here." Kairos gestured into the pool. The strange lights swirled, granting him immaculate glimpses into the time stream.

"Ten thousand years ago, from the perspective of your present time, our race came to Nosgoth. We discovered a land wracked with destruction. A massive entity made of many serpents held the world in a death grip, feeding off of the suffering of its inhabitants, the ancestors of the Hylden. Nosgoth knew neither life nor death - only eternal, hellish limbo.

"Moved to pity by the pleas of the Hylden ancestors, we erected the Pillars. Using their powers we stablized the land, creating a barrier between the realms of the living and the dead, and Banished the Elder God to the latter realm. This act of kindness bound us inexorably to the Pillars and to Nosgoth herself, never to return to our home dimension. We made peace with the Hylden and helped them found a new civilization."

Raziel watched the writhing tentacles of his Benefactor evaporate into the Spectral Realm against a background of erupting volcanoes and typhoons as the Pillars of Nine rose from the earth in the black pool. Janos had led him to believe that the Pillars were much younger. Perhaps he had misinterpreted his words. He had always wondered, if the Pillars were only meant to banish the Hylden, why he found his Benefactor with tentacles suspiciously coiled around the roots of the Pillars in their subterranean chamber. Now he understood the reason. Kairos continued:

"For eons our races lived in harmony. Using arcane sciences, the Hylden fused the essences of our two races together with lesser animals to create a servant race, so that we could devote our time to higher pursuits. But these humans were more intelligent and capable than the Hylden intended. They possessed sentience and creativity. Believing they possessed great potential, the Hylden freed their slaves and lived alongside them as teachers and guides. When the Hylden asked that we give up our slaves as well, this formed the first rift between us.

"During this time of conflict, the Elder spoke to us in seductive tongues. It claimed to be the Oracle of our holy Wheel of Fate. Certain of our righteousness, we warred with the Hylden and summoned the magic of the Pillars to banish them. The rest you already know."

Raziel listened, fascinated. "The Hylden war is still continuing in your time," he tried, unsure of himself.

"I am speaking in past tense for your benefit, Raziel. From your perspective we are gazing into the past. Now are you starting to understand?"

"I think so. If the Pillars were used to banish the Elder God, how has It been manipulating history for so long?"

"By attaching itself to the Wheel of Fate. The karmic cycle of death and rebirth is intended to spirit lesser creatures onto higher plains of knowledge. As we grow we acquire wisdom. When we die, our souls are passed on into new bodies until, eventually, we reach enlightenment. The engine of this cycle is, by its very nature, bound to the realm of the dead. Unknown to us, the Elder has been leeching off of this process ever since Its banishment. As souls pass through the Wheel the Elder devours their memories and experiences, robbing them of their potential.

"Since the genesis of the Pillars, I am the first Time Guardian to know the true identity of our so-called Oracle. The rest of our race has forgotten our origins entirely. Only by creating this chamber was I able to see deep into the past to learn the truth - although, that was not my original intention."

"Have you looked at the entire time stream?"

"Most of it. Some events are still in doubt, due to the interference of the Soul Reaver."

Raziel snapped to attention. He was so engrossed in time streaming and the history of Nosgoth that he almost forgot why he came here. "Vorador called you the true author of my fate. Did you have a hand in the creation of the Soul Reaver?"

"I will begin planning its construction once I leave this chamber. The Reaver will be instrumental to our victory over the Elder. Of course, Janos must not know this. Like the others he must continue to believe that the Reaver's sole purpose is to banish the Hylden. Our people have prejudices."

He did not like the way Kairos spoke of the Soul Reaver. He seemed to regard it with the same attitude as Kain, as a tool, not a living being. Kairos's obvious intellectual fascination with the blade somehow made his perspective all the more offensive. Raziel did not like being an experiment. "Janos said the Reaver was forged for me specifically. What does that mean?"

"The Reaver was created to be the vessel of your unique soul. Your destiny is an anomaly, a strange loop in time. While It is attached to the Wheel of Fate, the Elder is untouchable. Not only does it feed off of our souls - it manipulates the time stream like a captain steering his ship against the current, attempting to return Nosgoth to a state of infinite chaos and suffering. Only a weapon forged in a paradox and blessed by the spirits of the Balance Guardians is capable of destroying It. That is the Soul Reaver's true purpose. It is designed to subvert fate."

Folding his claws behind his back, Kairos sighed, "That is also why its purpose is so deceptive. I cannot convince my people to create a weapon to kill their god, so they must believe that it will be forged to attack the Hylden. The Hylden were never our true enemy. You may find this unfortunate, but as you can plainly see, this has all been preordained."

Raziel stared at the floor, the endless labyrinth of ticking gears. He turned to Kairos. "Why me?" Kairos looked at him impassively, as though he did not understand. Choking on bitter rage, Raziel screamed, _"Why me!?"_

The Ancient Time Guardian shook his head pitifully. "That is an absurd question."

"That is not an answer!" Raziel's voice cracked. He drew his falcata, pointing it at Kairos threateningly. "Why did you choose me? Tell me now!"

Kairos glared at him, but his scowl was merely irritated. He did not appear intimidated by the winking steel. "Why you? Why anyone? Why should there be an answer?"

"Because I deserve to know why! I lost everything - everything I had all because..." He grit his teeth and tried to steady his trembling voice, but no force on Nosgoth could hold back the serge of anger and despair. "And now you tell me that all of that... all of my betrayal... everyone I lost... everything I was... one thousand years of loyalty to the man I despise... you're telling me, that was all for nothing."

"I never said it was for nothing," Kairos replied calmly. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward until the point of Raziel's falcata almost touched his chest. Raziel flinched, not sure what to do. He slowly lowered his sword.

"If you must know," Kairos continued, unwavering, _"I_ did not choose you. Fate did. You may as well ask the mountains why they chose to rise. They simply did." He paused to let that sink in and inhaled deeply. "Only once, during my eons of waiting, have I had the privilege of meeting you. After trials and tribulations beyond number, you accomplished the one thing which no other creature has accomplished before. You defied the Wheel of Fate. Now our true work can begin."

But Raziel felt the full weight of history bearing down on him like a coffin lid. No matter how hard he screamed, no matter how long he scraped the door, his coffin would not budge. The earth would suffocate him soon. He sheathed his falcata. "No," he choked. "I don't want to be a part of this anymore. There is nothing for me out there."

Gently, Kairos replied, "You would not have said so a few moments ago."

He shook his head. A few moments ago he still held out some hope that his will mattered. If not his will, then at least his destiny. Now he knew the truth and it was exactly what he had always feared. He was not a champion. He was a pawn. "I was a fool then."

"You are exactly who you are meant to be, Raziel."

"And what is that? A piece in fate's cruel game? Was I created only to suffer? And what of my brothers - what of the clans? What of the Hylden? Why must everything end in misery?"

"You are focusing on endings. Consider a different moment in time - perhaps, this moment, now. What do you feel?"

Raziel hissed, "Agony."

"Why do you feel agony?"

"Because -" He stopped, almost biting his tongue. "I see. You want me to admit this is all pointless."

"Not at all. Many things are now possible which were once impossible. As you know, the time stream fragmented after the Scion attacked the Elder. Its grip has merely been loosened. The final blow is yet to be delivered. That task shall fall to you."

Raziel shook his head. He knew this was impossible. "How? I cannot see It now."

"You will need both Soul Reavers. The Death Guardian in your time, Lamia, can create the second one by spinning the soul of the first onto the Blood Reaver. With these swords together, the temporal distortion will expose the Elder so that you may destroy It permanently."

Raziel's eyes bulged. Like the other Guardians in Nosgoth's present, the Death Guardian had only just been born. It would take more than a decade before she was capable of casting such a spell. Having two incarnations of the Reaver in close proximity for so long could have terrible repercussions. This could ruin everything, literally everything. "No..."

"If the Elder is not destroyed it all begins again. While it is true the Soul Reaver must be returned to its rightful place in time, it cannot be so until its true purpose has been accomplished. We would trade a quick death for a slow and painful one. What do we have to lose?"

Raziel found himself incapable of protest. When he walked through that portal, he walked through unfettered. No loved ones waited for him in Nosgoth's present. The city he helped found lay in ruins. Kain, the last living member of what he deludedly called his family, despised him and Raziel despised him in turn. Everything he held dear was gone. Only Janos remained to be saved. Truly, he had little to lose. He shook his head. "There must be some other way."

"I am afraid not. There will be no second chances this time."

"What will happen if I succeed?"

Again, Kairos hesitated. He seemed uneasy to admit that even his omniscience had its limits. "I do not know. The two Soul Reavers will create a powerful temporal distortion. Whatever happens afterward, I can only infer from what we already know. The price of freewill is, to some extent, blindness."

"Suppose I choose to do nothing," Raziel said, defiant. Regardless of what Kairos believed, the possibility of a few happy centuries sounded like a far better alternative than for Nosgoth's last generation to die never knowing spring.

"I trust you will do what it is you are meant to do. If you deny your own will because it coincides with that of another, who is the manipulator then?"

Raziel's eyes hardened. Kairos did have a point. If his Benefactor still lived, It needed to be destroyed. Raziel agreed with that. If using two Soul Reavers was the way to do it then perhaps this was the correct course, even if it seemed perilous. There was far too much at stake for him to decide now. However, there was one thing he needed to know before he left. He turned to Kairos resolutely. "Show me what became of Janos Audron after the Hylden possessed him."

For the first time Kairos looked faintly displeased. Raziel retaliated, "Saving Janos's life is what I am meant to do. I will not leave this chamber until you answer me!"

Kairos studied him. Finally, he released a soft sigh and summoned the vision Raziel wanted to see. As Raziel joined him, Kairos cautioned, "Prepare yourself. This will not be easy."

Drawing a deep breath, Raziel gazed into the dancing lights. The waves of energy glowed dark red and guttural voices snarled through the veil. An emaciated blue body lay face down on rust colored earth, motionless and broken. Two bloody black stubs protruded from his back. Black feathers littered the ground. Slowly, the figure flexed its claws and trembling in agony tried to lift itself. Raziel's throat clenched when he saw Janos's face.

"The Hylden made Janos their slave. The most powerful of the Hylden, Hash'ak'gik, built the Hylden Gate to transport his armies here from the Demon Realm. One hundred years before you were raised from your Sarafan Tomb, Kain freed Janos from his prison and went with him to shut down the Hylden Gate. During the battle, Janos fell through and became trapped when the gate closed. He died there."

Paralyzed with horror, Raziel watched helplessly as a pack of demons closed in around his wounded friend. His eyes physically hurt from the sight of this, yet he could not look away. He could not even think of looking away. The only thought in his mind was a desperate prayer. As the demons dug into Janos's flesh and the Ancient screamed in agony vomit rose in the back of Raziel's throat. The sour taste finally brought him to his senses. Shutting his eyes, he staggered backward and covered his mouth, swallowing bile. This was his fault. This was all his fault. He locked eyes with Kairos, desperate. "Tell me what I need to do to save him."

Kairos stared at him blankly. He turned away from Raziel, shaking his head.

* * *

**AN:** There are some weird inconsistences in the way Janos explains the creation of the Pillars in SR2 and Defiance. My interpretation is a bit different.


	22. Whatever Will Be Will Be

"Janos traced his path along the Wheel. His journey is complete."

Raziel shook his head furiously. He felt sicker than he had when he found himself being dragged toward the Lake of the Dead, like his insides were full of live and venomous snakes. He started again toward the pool. The vision Kairos summoned had vanished. Raziel's claws twitched. There must be a solution somewhere in the time stream, but his mind was too addled to focus on divining. He could not stop seeing Janos' face. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Kairos moving away from the pool, shunning him. Raziel seethed, trembling.

"That is not good enough," he growled, hounding Karios around the Anatopism. "You saw my destiny, you know my trials! I have given everything I am to restore Nosgoth. All I ask is to fix one mistake. I failed to save him twice - I can't fail again!"

Kairos shook his head again, turning to face him with a look of exhaustion. "You assume I have the power to move mountains. Even if I thought Janos' life would convince you to see reason, these events cannot be altered."

"No. No, you're wrong. The Soul Reaver –"

"That is completely reckless," Kairos snapped. "You know very well the calamity that befalls anyone who uses the Soul Reaver to alter history. We are extremely fortunate that the time stream has remained relatively stable in spite of its misuses."

"Fortunate!?" Raziel exploded. "Were you _bored_ while you watched me slog through hell from the safety of your blasted contraption? Janos is – he will be the last of your race. His life is worth the risk."

"Our bloodline will endure through you. That is all that is required to sustain the Binding. Janos' life is superfluous."

The Time Guardian's callousness stunned him into silence. He knew that Kairos was right – about the Pillars – and the realization that Janos had done so much for Nosgoth by guarding the Reaver, only to be cast aside like trash once his role was complete, was almost too much to bear.

He also could not help but notice that Kairos only mentioned _his_ bloodline. What about Kain?

Kairos sighed. "There is much you do not understand. I cannot prevent you from abusing your power, so I will not tolerate further debate. All I can do is make you aware of the consequences of your potential actions – _if_ you will listen." He returned to the dark pool, gesturing for Raziel to follow.

"Past and future are closely intertwined. Altering one will affect the other. When Kain assassinated Prince William, he did more than provide the spark for the crusade of my human successor. In order to keep Nosgoth's chronology intact it became necessary for you to encounter William's broken Soul Reaver."

The pool showed Raziel, as a wraith, standing in William's Chapel before the broken Soul Reaver. As he watched himself approach the sword Raziel fought back another wave of nausea. He remembered this event all too clearly. The wraith curiously approached the broken sword. Touching it, he allowed the wraith blade to coil around the broken Soul Reaver, heedless of the consequences.

Raziel closed his eyes and turned from the scene, painfully clutching his right fist. "And the wraith blade drained my soul to restore the physical sword – I know. I don't need to see this again."

"Do you see why?"

He sighed impatiently, "So that the Soul Reaver would be whole when the fledgling Kain discovered it thirty years later. What does this have to do with Janos?"

"Sometimes, when the Soul Reaver is used to alter fate, history is forced to correct itself by creating a time loop. The Soul Reaver your Kain carries is two and a half thousand years out of its proper place in history. In order to preserve chronology, the sword must be taken from Kain and sent back. As you know, this task falls to you. Your re-birth as Time Guardian, Vorador's resurrection, and the recovery and restoration of Kain's shattered Reaver are the result of ripples sent out when Kain brought the purified Soul Reaver back to your 'present' time."

Kairos looked at him. Raziel cradled his head in his claws as if suffering from a severe headache. He could not stop thinking about Janos. Goaded by Kairos' stubborn silence, he finally tired, replying acidly, "Would it not have been simpler for Kain to return the sword himself?"

Kairos chuckled. "Do you honestly believe he would do that?"

"Kain's fatalism is boundless."

Kairos shook his head, almost pitifully. "Kain is Kain. A pawn cannot move backwards."

He blinked at Kairos, dazed, and shook his head in scorn. Though that may be true, Raziel still believed Kain could overcome his inherent selfishness if he chose to. This had nothing to do with Janos. "Get to the point."

A new scene appeared in the pool. Raziel saw himself, in his own body, stepping out of the Chronoplast with the repaired Reaver on his back, inside Vorador's sheath. Unlike the other scenes Kairos had shown him, which were magnitudes clearer than anything Raziel could conjure, this scene was surrounded by a thick haze. Raziel's image shivered and moved haltingly like a shadow split in two.

"What you are seeing now is the end point of the last stable time loop created before the Elder's defeat. As you know, your 'present' time is extraordinarily unstable – vulnerable to the whims of free will. In this state, it will be impossible for history to correct itself again if the past is drastically altered. Saving Janos would require you to interfere in the final battle between the young Kain and the Neo-Sarafan Lord, three hundred years after Vorador's resurrection."

At Kairos' gesture the waters shifted, revealing a clear image of a young Kain battling the Sarafan Lord on the scaffolding of the Hylden gate. Raziel's heart wrenched as Janos swooped in to defend Kain. Kairos fixed Raziel with a severe gaze. "Assuming you succeed, you already know the consequences of Kain discovering your true identity. The elder Kain would become aware of your treachery early, take advantage of his free will, and stop you from using the Chronoplast before you even considered your next move. This would introduce a fatal paradox. Even if a stable time loop could form to prevent this, attempting Janos' rescue would still be dangerously insane."

Raziel studied the scene pensively, desperately seeking a solution. The scaffolding appeared to float perilously above the inter-dimensional storm birthed by the gate. Lightning and smog poured from the vortex, making it difficult to discern their location, let alone how to reach the battle without flight. As the Sarafan Lord prepared to hurl Janos down into the gate Raziel turn his back on the scene reflexively. He could not stomach more of this.

Retreating from the pool, Raziel wandered aimlessly until he stopped. He gripped the side of his head, unable to accept the things he had seen.

He did not know how to start over; did not know where to begin. It was hard enough the first time, after Kain's conquest, after he had lived so long on the battlefield that he did not know how to leave, but then his brothers were just the same. They all made it through together. Who else but Janos could understand what it meant to lose so much and still be expected to carry on - as if the universe had cut off his legs, held a sword to his throat and ordered him to walk; to be forever trapped between the impossible and the unthinkable?

After a long silence, Raziel said, "What does it matter? Fighting Kain with the Reaver is just as risky. Either I die fighting him or I die fighting to rescue Janos…"

"We would _all_ die, Raziel."

"This does not concern you!" He whirled on Kairos, livid. "You're already dead as far as I can tell. Why would you make this damn sword? It's useless."

"Because it is Nosgoth's only hope." Catching himself, Kairos added, "And, more importantly, because it is inevitable. There is no ultimate _why_ behind fate's design. There is only what must be. All things die, Raziel."

"I _know! _I know…" His voice caught in his throat. He swallowed. "And personally I would have preferred to stay that way. We're finished here." He turned from Kairos again and started the long walk across the vast chamber.

"I have taught you all I can. The rest is up to you."

Raziel did not stop or look back. He knew that everything Kairos told him about fate was true, except what he refused to believe. Time and time again fate had demonstrated its mastery over him, a crueler lord than Kain. Raziel had broken his chains before, though it took every ounce of him, and he would always bite at the hand that held him down. If his Guardianship over the Time Pillar ever made him a willing slave to fate he would sooner slit his own throat in one final act of defiance than carry on with a dead soul in a living body.

...

Vorador sensed something amiss the moment Azrael entered his workshop. His stride, the way his eyes bore holes into every surface yet shied away from him, as if Azrael could not bear to allow him to see what he had become, betrayed the very thing he tried to hide. "Did you reach the clock tower?"

Azrael lifted his head. He nodded, stoic. "I think I found what he wanted me to see."

Curled up under the work bench, Malek rose and trotted over to Azrael with his tail wagging. The one-eyed hound had found his way back to the manor the morning after Vorador. It had surprised him to behold the mirth on Kain's face when he reunited with his lost dog. Maybe he did have a heart after all. Malek sniffed Azrael's hand, seeking attention, but Azrael moved away.

Unless Azrael asked, Vorador would not press the issue. It was not his place to know. He presented the Reaver in its sheath with a proud smirk. "I had extra time, so I added a few details."

Other than a splash of artistic license, the sheath was simple and functional. If he had a few days to work he could have created a true work of art. On the back of the sheath, beneath the white jade skull of the Reaver, Vorador had carved the symbol which he had first seen on Azrael's cowl. Beneath that a series of intricately designed knots coiled down the length of the sheath, wrapping around a straight line with points at both ends, similar to the way light and energy snaked around that peculiar blade Azrael once bore. There was a strap around the hilt, to hold the Reaver steady while Azrael flew.

The demon hide Vorador used came from a red demon and had been dyed crimson for emphasis. Kain might have had other plans for it. If he questioned what Vorador had done with his leather, he would tell him he threw it with the rest of the garbage. Truth be told Kain's craft was impressive, especially being self-taught, but his skills could do with some polishing. It was never a bad idea to knock him off his perch.

Azrael tensed as the weight of the sword pulled down on him. Once he was strapped in, Vorador had him draw the sword. He was not sure how this would turn out with Azrael's wings. Although had made sheaths for winged beings before, that was thousands of years ago and Azrael's wings were quite different from an Ancient. Azrael went through the motions like a clay doll. Vorador felt pleased to see his design working.

He made some marks on the leather straps and unhooked the sheath, taking it to his work bench for adjustments, leaving the Reaver with the Vampire Champion. Since he had not had Azrael there to model for him he had been generous with the design and now the straps needed to be trimmed.

One of his ears tilted backward, listening closely to his companion. Azrael had not moved from where he left him. He could hear the Champion's claws clinking softly against the Reaver's steel as he held the great flamberge. "Vorador, do you know how Janos died?"

That question gave Vorador pause. He did indeed know how his master had perished. Even after five centuries the memory of finding his body beneath a pile of rubble still brought a grimace to his green face. "Murdered by the Sarafan. You were there, weren't you?"

"I was..." Azrael replied quietly, almost guiltily. Glancing over his shoulder, Vorador saw him gazing into his reflection in the steel. This time when he spoke his lips moved by themselves and the words seemed to manifest from nothing. "He wanted to give me this sword. When the Sarafan attacked he used a spell to whisk me away. I tried to convince him to let me stay, but he was so concerned with protecting me... I failed to reach him in time."

Vorador turned away from his work with a heavy feeling in his chest. He sensed that Azrael needed him to say something. "What happened then was not your fault. Janos was a pacifist. He would rather die a martyr than harm one lock of Sarafan hair."

His voice turned bitter toward the end. Vorador had never seen the eyrie at its height of grandeur. The first time he laid eyes on it, it was falling into ruin. Janos had asked for his help in restoring it so that he could live there, far away from the horrors of the world below and the brutal Sarafan Crusades. He had agreed, believing that the palace would make a fitting home for his sire, yet Janos rarely entertained visitors. He lived the last five hundred years of his life in near total solitude. He could not count the times he had tried to persuade Janos to leave the eyrie and live with him in Termogent. Partially, he blamed Janos for bringing death upon himself.

But Azrael would not listen. He turned on Vorador with rabid indignation. "Janos was not a coward! He never stood a chance alone while the Sarafan had Moebius' staff. If I had been faster, I could have stopped them."

The sudden change in demeanor came entirely unexpected. Vorador scoffed, irritated that this stranger would so gravely underestimate the vampire he thought of as his father. "As if that pitiful staff could do anything against the Great Janos Audron. How do you suppose how he earned the honor of being called Tenth Guardian and the right to protect and wield the Reaver? He could have destroyed his foes regardless of Moebius's magic, if he had the resolve."

Azrael fixed him with a dark gaze. He held the Reaver at his side in a tight grip, taking a threatening stance. "You know nothing."

Vorador snarled, "Mind your insolent tongue, boy, before I remind you of your place." He paused, studying the fuming Azrael with a tilted head. As Azrael withered Vorador's eyes softened faintly in understanding. He sighed, "I see Janos left an impression on you. You care for him."

Closing his eyes, Azrael looked away, ashamed. "I only knew him for a short time," he denied.

"He had that effect on people. I disagree vehemently with the things he did near the end of his life, but I cannot hate him. He had virtues and vices like the rest of us." Vorador returned to his work, speaking as he made the final adjustments to the Reaver's sheath. "Janos allowed his emotions to prevent him from doing what he knew was right. Centuries after the war, the Ancients used Janos and the Reaver to kidnap the Guardian children. He went along willingly at first but, over time, the guilt began to weigh on him. After the human rebellion, Janos swore never to use the sword again and retreated into the mountains to wait for you. Even when his own kin were in danger of dying out he maintained his silent vigil to save his own conscious. We lost countless souls to his inaction and blind faith.

"Many times I asked him to let me carry his burden. I think he knew my intentions. Sometimes I wonder if Nosgoth would be better had I been more insistent."

Azrael listened without saying a word. "How do you cope with so much grief?"

Taking a moment to inspect his work, Vorador paused in thought. That was a familiar problem. Vorador knew grief well, almost as well as he knew the clang of a hammer on smelted steel, but unlike an art, no one ever masters grief. Satisfied, he brought the sheath to Azrael and secured it over his chest. "I take a little pleasure in creation; not to replace what was lost, but to prove I still have something to offer. Yet vengeance also makes a fine tonic. Overindulgence, a mere distraction. No matter what I do, relief is only temporary. So it is to each their own. One way or another, we all march on with our shadows." Vorador backed away. "How is that?"

Azrael tugged at the straps across his chest. He found the opening of the sheath with the tip of the Reaver and slid the sword inside with ease. Vorador grinned wickedly. Now Azrael was properly prepared. He lifted his cloak off the wall and handed it to him. "Take good care of my sword. Give Kain my regards when you see him again."

He wrapped his cloak around his neck absently. He took a little too long adjusting it. "Vorador, if you decided to disappear, where would you go?"

"Somewhere no one could sniff me out." He considered for a moment, smirking. "But... to the north, near the glaciers."

Azrael's disappointment amused him. "That would make you very hard to find indeed."

"Such is the principal behind disappearing. Will you be on your way?"

"This era has nothing else to offer me. Thank you, for everything."

...

As the chill mountain winds beat against his face he felt as though he was crying, but it was only his eyes watering. Raziel could not force himself to cry even if he wanted to.

Nosgoth's beauty stretched out above and below. The stars twinkled and the grass shimmered with dew. When Raziel landed on the roof of the cave and dropped down into the forward chamber, he did not look back. He stood in front of the tripod cauldron, the entrance to Moebius's underground complex, hesitating as if lost.

He was like a ghost wandering down the halls of his ancestral manor after it had been taken over and rebuilt by a new family. He forced himself to activate the secret switch by telekenesis. As the wall spun to reveal entry, he walked through the corridor without knowing where he was going - or rather _why_ he was going. This constant pushing forward felt more like a habit than a conscious decision. He moved on only because he did not know what else to do.

Kneeling inside the Chronoplast chamber, Raziel reached into his satchel for the coordinates to return to Nosgoth's present. Instead he found a piece of cloth. He held it in both hands and spread out its crimson swath. Two white symbols gazed back at him. Razielim. Raziel felt paralyzed. He could not think; for a long time, he just stared.

Suddenly he remembered why he had brought this with him. Balling it up in his fist, he reached over his shoulder and drew the Reaver. The freshly polished steel shined hungrily. Laying the sword across his thighs, he tied the small Razielim flag to the pommel so that the red flowed out like a river of blood. He rose and held the sword above him to see how his banner flew. There was no wind inside the Chronoplast, but Raziel could imagine.

He had wanted to distinguish his Reaver from Kain's Soul Reaver. What better way to do that than to fly the flag of the Razielim, as he always had?

Up until recently that cowl had been with him through everything. Even when his material body dissolved he awoke in the Spectral Realm with that cowl wrapped snugly around his neck. It was the only real reassurance he had that some part of him was surviving. Enduring. But when the Pillars restored him to his former self the cowl vanished without a trace. He had not thought much of that cowl since his resurrection. At first he thought he no longer needed it, but then again, he never wore it only to hide his face. It reminded him that he still had a score to settle.

He had said it himself. He could never forgive, so there was no point in pretending. If he was forced to face his future alone then he would give himself completely into darkness by wiping away the last vestige of his bitter past. A new night was rising. His lips peeled back in a painful grin. "Kain."

* * *

_Present Day_

* * *

Raziel stepped out of the time vortex into the Chronoplast once more. The moment his feet touched the floor the fog brought on by the shattered Pillars' lifted from his mind and his senses momentarily reeled. He could feel the Pillars magic resonate within him once more. However, after meeting Kairos, the future made him more uneasy than ever before. He did not want to test his clairvoyance yet.

There on the ground, waiting for him patiently as always, was Kain's blood. He remembered when he used the chronosphere to travel back in time to the Sanctuary of the Clans three months prior, where he found more evidence of their battles, the blood that he had shed. That bastard followed him everywhere. _Kill Kain, kill Kain_ - the refrain rang shrilly in his ears every day. Even when it was the last thing he wanted, he could not get it out of his mind. He wanted to make it stop.

The Razielim banner fanned out from the Reaver's pommel as he descended the steps and went into the adjacent chamber. He undid the clasps on the leather straps over his chest and leaned the sheath against the wall with the Reaver inside. Then he sat down on the makeshift bed, a nest of worn down Dumahim flags, his legs spread in front of him. Secluded deep underground, Moebius's complex was silent. Raziel glanced at the daffodils on his table. They were still in bloom. Their gaudy yellow petals burned his eyes. His hand went to the hourglass resting against the base of his neck like a child seeking comfort from a favorite toy.

This place was beginning to feel almost like home. Coming back was a relief. He reminded himself to just breathe.

Now that he was back in his own time, safe and secure, the temptation to give into devastation was almost overpowering. But he could not. There was too much to be done. He needed to swallow it and, if he could, channel it. Janos might be gone - but there was still a _reason_ for Nosgoth to need him. He needed to remember that.

Tomorrow he would return to Captain Hasek with his conquest. Once Hasek's men saw the Reaver, he believed they would have complete faith in him; the same went for Kranz. He needed them to capture the Silenced Cathedral in Zephon's territory. Nosgoth's fate depended on the Soul Reaver, but all of Raziel's plans hinged on holding the Silenced Cathedral and using the power that it contained to wipe out the clans.

He needed a clear head. This was still a chess game and he could not afford to make a careless mistake. Yet Janos' agonized death kept playing out over and over again in his mind. Only the thought that Kain would be dead soon gave him some solace. One less phantom to haunt him. If he could hold it together just long enough to kill Kain, they might all make it through this okay.

Glancing again at the yellow daffodils, he tightened his grip on the hourglass and breathed deeply. He bowed his head, eyes tightly shut. _Remember spring._


	23. The New Nosgoth

The following night, unaware of Raziel's split second absence from the present, Kain had flown to Zephon's territory with a mission. He had intended to locate the new Death Guardian and send her on her way to the Sanctuary of the Clans before the next cataclysm hit. He was too late.

He had flown down with his flock and materialized on one of the battlements of the Silent Cathedral, the capitol of the late Zephon, and looked down on a city in chaos. The battle must have begun that very night, for no one had sent word to the Sanctuary about an uprising. The air reeked of blood. Everywhere he looked he saw Zephonim slaughtering one another, sometimes with the aid of a Dumahim, and at first, Kain had had no idea which side belonged to him.

Similar uprisings had occurred before; after vampire hunters had slain Dumah in his throne room, the abrupt power shift ripped the clan apart as the Dumahim split into faction upon faction, until only a few shreds of the original clan remained; and when Turel suddenly vanished, his oldest wife, Zilah, had demolished all potential rivals within a month to secure her place at the top of the heap. Taking heed, Kain had made arrangements to install new patriarchs within the remaining clans after Raziel's rampage. Infuriatingly, the Zephonim had not taken well to their new leader. As a matter of fact, Kain found him quite dead.

Ten days after the uprising, Kain was back at the Sanctuary, having left Zephon's clan under the custodianship of a small force of heavily armed Dumahim peacekeepers. He also gave them a new, far harsher leader, who did not want the position and consequently looked down on his new wards with contempt.

"Let those scrawny spiders try to assassinate four hundred pounds of Turelim fury," Kain said, his head leaned back on the thighs of a warm human girl. His hair spilled over her legs like a waterfall of white silk.

"That would be a sight to see, my lord," replied Sweetblood, a house slave scantily clad in faded robes of white and red. Behind him, another house slave, Harmony, ran a brush through his luxurious hair, while Sweetblood sharpened and polished the claws on his right hand. Two other slaves, Paramour and Treasure, also attended him during his oil bath.

He had not actually been living in the Sanctuary for the entire five hundred years of Raziel's absence. With Turel's disappearance and Dumah's death both occurring in the last century, he had decided to take up residence elsewhere, to avoid unnecessary drama. He only returned when he expected Raziel to come crawling out of the abyss. This place had seen better days.

The sunlit lattices where once grew vibrant green vines now stood like a skeleton frozen at the moment of death. Where a woman would draw withering notes from a glass harp, her voluptuous body tastefully posed on a red velvet chaise, smooth thighs nestling her instrument like a lover, her arms strategically positioned to tease his senses with playful glimpses of their naked breasts, was now only bare space. Time had stripped the paint from the walls. They shed their golden skins, exposing the rough stone with all its imperfections; a palace built by the bleeding hands of human slaves.

Cracks in the black marble sides of the circular bath needed to be patched before it could hold oil. This was the first time he had used it since his return from the Chronoplast over two months ago. Closing his eyes, the aroma of the oil overpowered his senses, and he could almost imagine the room as it used to be. Nosgoth was slowly returning to normal, with one exception.

Well, one that mattered.

...

There had been no sign of Raziel near the Sanctuary since his last temper tantrum. Kain sensed him somewhere to the north. Lately, he had been moving westward as well, often lingering in one place for long periods of time. This was very out of character. In some ways it was a relief to be able to keep track of him so easily now that he was a Guardian. On the other hand, he now had to deal with the blunt fact that Raziel was spending an unsettling amount of time near Erste Stadt, the human city, and vampire hunter territory.

Standing on the balcony above the weathered courtyard, Kain scanned the skies. He had followed Raziel's advice to keep the smokestacks shut down. This morning the light seemed stronger than usual. Squinting his eyes, he remembered his first bitter taste of hope.

He never told Raziel what happened after he sacrificed himself. He had recounted his first battle with the Vampires' Oracle, when Raziel's soul sang through the Soul Reaver with holy, purifying fire, but he left out something important.

There had been smoke in the sky then, too. It swirled around the distant husks of the shattered Pillars like an ill omen. Kain observed the devastation alone from a balcony of the Vampire Citadel. Raziel was gone, but the eyes of the Soul Reaver burned spectral blue, and Kain almost swore he could feel him standing at his side, in Raziel's words, like his right hand. For the first time he truly appreciated the value of that blade, of Raziel's unconquerable soul. If Kain had told him that, would he have left?

But he could never tell him that. There were certain things he could never bring himself to say.

Turning away from this scene, he continued down the hall until he found Buttercup sitting on a stone bench beneath an open window. Lying on the ground beside her like a dog was Nogah, one of the last of Turel's wives. As he approached her ears lifted and her eyes opened a crack. Her nostrils flared. She sat up, recognizing Kain's scent. Buttercup stood, following Nogah's lead. "Good morning, Lord Kain."

The two of them were nearly inseparable. He did not know why Nogah took such a liking to Buttercup, but he felt pleased that she did. It made his life a little easier. "How is my Nature Guardian coming along?"

"She's feisty this morning," Buttercup replied, passing Chrysanta to Kain, as she was now accustomed to doing whenever he approached her. As he took the child into his arms the young Nature Guardian gaped at the emblem on Kain's chest. She tried to grab at it. Kain took her tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger and gently moved her hand away so that she would not pull on the emblem, if she even managed to get her gummy fingers around it.

Shortly after she arrived Chrysanta had come down with a fever. Internally, her illness disturbed him. He had no idea children could be so fragile. Thankfully, the Kainanites were able to steal medicine for her from Erste Stadt's apothecary. Now Chrysanta was bursting with health. He could feel the difference in her weight since he rescued her from the Great Northern Smokestack. A fine layer of pale hair graced her tiny head like a halo. Her wide, brown eyes flickered intently.

Kain believed he had a gift for identifying early potential. When he bred dogs, he could usually determine the pack leader by four weeks. Chrysanta glanced at his clawed hand, fascinated by the crimson gauntlet he wore and the rough texture of his fingers. Again her gaze turned to his emblem. She reached out for it with her other hand, grunting greedily. Ambitious little runt.

Buttercup was putting on weight, too. At the Great Northern Smokestack, Buttercup had been one of many women in charge of raising the slaves that were born there, until they were old enough to work in the mines, be traded away, or ground into feed. She seemed to feel no love for Chrysanta. Because of Chrysanta, Kain pampered Buttercup, so she cared for the child devotedly in order to keep receiving special treatment, which was fine by him, as long as she was motivated.

The Guardians beneath Erste Stadt in Undercity also seemed to be doing well. He had not seen them since he traveled there for Chrysanta's medicine. Michael was enormous and seemed energetic; Nosgoth's newest Conflict Guardian was off to a good start. About the Dimension Guardian, Cyrus, Kain could not say much. He felt certain that he would have some idea of Cyrus' potential soon.

But something about Mara made him uneasy. She was the mother of the Conflict Guardian, and Cyrus' wet nurse. While he was inspecting Michael, he had caught a twinge of resentment in Mara's eyes as she looked over his shoulder; the glare of the mother wolf protecting her den. Kain did not like that. He would rather Mara be like Buttercup; warm and experienced, but also docile, detached, and easily replaced. Mara's small breasts also gave him disdain. With two boys to feed (and Michael requiring the lion's share) he wondered if she was producing enough milk. Kain would not have left a litter of his prized hounds with a dry bitch. Before he left, he had taken High Priest Pontius aside and told him to keep an eye on Mara. If the Guardians showed any signs of malnourishment - or if Mara became too attached - Pontius was to transfer them to another female slave, by force if necessary.

"Another Guardian will be joining us soon. I expect you to familiarize her caretaker with the Sanctuary. If she requires your help with anything, you are to assist her immediately, and I will expect her to do the same for you." He remembered the young Death Guardian, a child born with a thick head of pitch black hair, and how starkly she contrasted with the fair haired Nature Guardian.

"Yes, my lord," Buttercup replied with a quick bow. Good girl.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nogah standing, ears erect and facing the open window. As a Turelim, her hearing was much stronger than his. She looked at him with her upper lip slightly curled. "Messenger at the gate, sir. Zilahim."

Kain furrowed his brow in distaste. After Turel's disappearance, Zilah had taken over leadership of his clan by force, changing her husband's clan color from forest green to pearl and their name from Turelim to Zilahim. Kain refused to recognize her alterations. Officially, they were still Turelim, because he said so.

Unlike her zealous husband, Zilah had been nothing but a thorn in his side since she came to power. She stylized herself as the virgin queen of her clan. She claimed to have taken no lovers since Turel's disappearance a century ago. What gave her the right to twist the definition of virgin so crudely, he could only guess. It would be so much simpler to kill her and have her out of his way for good.

But there was a problem. Zilah was well liked. Her clan sympathized with her shallow devotion to the late Turel, almost seemed to adore her. They spoke with pride about how she had taken decisive control by turning on her sisters like a shark in the womb. The fact of the matter was, even if he could kill her without further destabilizing the empire, it would require more planning than he could afford to devote himself to at the moment. He returned Chrysanta to a confused looking Buttercup and went downstairs to greet his bad news.

...

A few hours later, Kain had assembled a group of thirty Turelim outside the Sanctuary of the Clans. He needed to pay a visit to Zilah. While he felt comfortable enough to go alone when he visited the other clans, with Zilah, he preferred not to take any chances. Given the news he received, he suspected he would require a few extra hands for breaking heads.

The Turelim could not fly like Kain. However, they could drop onto all fours and run like beasts. Taking his position at the head of the pack, Kain transformed into his wolf form. He arched his back, white fur bristling, and gave his call. The Turelim answered his chilling howl with a chorus of roars. He leapt off his hind legs, grasping the earth with his forearms and throwing himself threw the air, reaching his top speed in seconds. His entourage followed close behind, leaving the body of the Zilahim messenger in the dust.

They would head east and travel along the dry lake bed of what was once the Lake of Tears. The lake had shrunk considerably in the last five centuries. Only the deepest parts of the lake remained filled.

As they crossed the lake bed Kain let out a howl. The Turelim called back one by one. They did this every five miles or so, so that Kain could keep tabs on the pack without stopping.

Their pace slowed and steadied as they crossed the lake. Even Kain could not run full speed forever. Although the Soul Reaver appeared to have vanished, he could feel the weight of it added to his body as he ran, just as any object he carried would be. The Turelim who followed behind him carried weapons of their own, rattling as they loped across the lake bed.

Within a few hours they were running across the vast petrified forest that rimmed Turel's territory. Fossilized trees littered the bleak, rolling landscape. A dormant mountain rose to the north, topped with a mechanical monstrosity that, at this very moment, belched smoke into the sky in an act of rebellion: the Great Eastern Smokestack.

A gong rang from the tower as they passed the first checkpoint. The ringing echoed across the territory, announcing Kain's arrival to all.

Leaving the petrified forest, their party crossed the fields where human slaves, overseen by Zilahim taskmasters, grew their meager crops, which supported the slave population. Not all of the taskmasters were Zilahim; most were Dumahim, captured and enslaved, forced to work for Zilah or die.

At last they arrived at the gates of Turelim City. (At least she had the decency to keep her husband's name here.) Situated on the western shore of the withering Lake of Serenity, this city was the gateway to Zilah's castle. The white wolf reared onto its hind-legs and shrank. Standing in its place, Kain drew the Soul Reaver and approached the towering wall. His entourage clamored around him. From atop the rampart, the Zilahim guard nodded at Kain and disappeared to open the gate.

When Kain was a boy, his nana entertained him with a ridiculous story about a man who sailed across the Southern Sea to a land where the people were no larger than mice. Entering Turelim City had the opposite effect on Kain. Doorways bulged and expanded; tables and chairs rose up against him. The average Turelim stood at around eight feet tall (the same was true of Zilahim, being the same damn breed), more than two feet taller than Kain, and some were as large as ten. Before he vanished, Turel had grown to a height of fifteen. His dearest wife stood thirteen feet tall, almost seventeen with her ears erect. This was why, when Kain visited Turelim City, he did not come alone.

As they passed through the square, Kain's sharp hearing detected the sound of vermin. His golden eyes flashed in time to catch a glimpse of a nimble Zephonim scuttling up the side of a building and out of sight. He wrinkled his nose and looked at the nearest guard, Shakeel. Shakeel bared a mouth full of teeth and charged into the alleyway. The air exploded like the cracking of a whip and Kain heard the Zephonim cry out in pain as it fell from its cowardly perch. Moments later, Shakeel dragged the terrified vampire from the shadows and restrained him in front of Kain.

Kain sneered at the grotesque child of Zephon. His mouth was all gums, save two curved fangs protruding from an ashen, featureless face no mother could love fused to his shoulders without a neck. Random strands of hair sprouted from his scalp like whiskers. Four long and lanky limbs sprouted from his small diamond shaped torso. He wore a tight fitting pair of leather pants, badly worn from travel. "A little spider has wandered far from his web," Kain announced, standing over the cowering vampire. "I suppose you have a name. I should like to call you by it."

The Zephonim's beady black eyes rolled in his head as he struggled half-heartedly to free his twiggy arms from Shakeel's iron grip. His beak-like mouth quivered at the sight of the Soul Reaver. Kain glanced at Shakeel and said, "Snap his arm."

"K-Kimura, lord!" stammered the Zephonim in its phlegmy and graceless tongue.

A small herd of Zilahim gathered anxiously on the fringes of the square.

"How unfortunate; I'm afraid I don't know that name. Perhaps you could think of a better one..."

Kimura trembled. "I... I don't know, my lord."

Kain held the Soul Reaver in front of him, claws folded over the pommel, point touching the ground. The eyes of the sword glared at Kimura. "Kimura, I tire easily of ignorant people, so while you still can, I ask that you listen carefully: I find it very hard to believe that you made it all the way out here alone. Furthermore, it is quite suspicious that I should find you here mere days after putting down a rebellion in the Zephonim capitol."

The Zephonim's eyes widened in understanding. "Hexath! Y-you want Hexath!"

Kain leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed. "And he is?"

"Our leader. I-I don't know where he is - but Envia, she can tell you! I'll lead you to her!"

Kain tapped his foreclaw against the hilt. He glanced coolly at one of his Turelim. "Rasim, do we have a wheelbarrow?"

"No, my lord," Rasim replied, grinning.

On cue, Shakeel smashed Kimura's kneecaps. The Zephonim howled shrilly and slumped forward in agony. Shakeel grabbed the top of Kimura's head, forcing him to look up at Kain. Kain clicked his tongue. "How embarrassing." He fixed his eyes on Kimura. "I hope you're good at giving directions - or I'll make your face match your knees."

Kimura gasped, wheezing, "The grain c-c-cellar... on the eastern s-side of the city... trap door... hidden in the far right corner... please, I b-beg you! I've done everything you asked!"

Receiving the signal from Kain, Shakeel dug his claws under what could laughingly be called Kimura's chin and stepped down on his back, tearing the head from his body like plucking the legs off a spider. Kimura's body slumped over in a bloody pool. Kain sent Rasim a meaningful look. "You know what to do."

Rasim smiled hungrily and took off for the eastern grain cellar, taking another Turelim with him. Meanwhile, Shakeel searched the body. He tossed Kain something shiny. Kain caught it in his right hand and looked at it. It was a copper game piece bearing the symbol of Zephon's clan. According to the vampire he left in charge, the rebel group had been using these coins as a means of identification to recognize fellow members of the resistance. Kain scrunched his brow. What a red letter day this was turning out to be.

...

The Zilahim guards allowed Kain and his men passage across the bridge to the small island where Zilah made her home. During the time of Kain's youth, the castle belonged to King Ottoman, and was called Willendorf. This castle had survived centuries of war, figuratively speaking. Little of the original structure remained, apart from the foundation. Over time it had been rebuilt, reinforced, refurbished, and built upon, until it hardly resembled its former self.

Cracking bones greeted Kain as he marched into Zilah's throne room. The hall reeked of blood and fear. Obscured behind a lacy lavender pink curtain, the silhouette of a human body hung in the air without chains, twisting and crunching, rung dry by invisible hands. Blood dripped into Zilah's open mouth. Her tongue slopped over her lips. A large pair of bat-like ears flapped up, standing erect like horns. Kain tensed, sensing a set-up.

"Oh, Kain. Where are my manners?" The corpse exploded through the veil like it was launched from a catapult. As the body tumbled toward him Kain caught it in the air with telekensis and threw it aside.

"Up your arse, like always," he quipped. Typical woman. This was precisely why he only married once. Zilah was uglier than sin, but underneath her leathery, hairless skin was a cruel fox in silky ember fur.

"Charming." She clapped her enormous paws together. At her command, a Dumahim slave pulled on a tassel hanging from the ceiling. The frilly veil parted to reveal Lady Zilah spread out on a massive red cushion. The color had faded and the fabric frayed in places, stained with blood and other bodily fluids, but the gem encrusted buttons twinkled prettily in the candlelight. Kain thought it looked like a tawdry dog bed. The way she sat, she even looked like a dog. "How is your little tart, Nogah?" she said, saccharine.

"Enough banter. You know why I'm here."

Zilah lifted a cloven hand, resting her lower jaw on her knuckles. Her milky white eyes were half-lidded. Although she was half-blind and beastly, she knew how to let her eyes speak for her. "It was you who gave me charge over the smokestacks of the eastern empire."

"That responsibility was Turel's alone. I have not passed it on to you."

"Then to whom?" she inquired, mockingly indignant. She knew very well to _whom._

"That is beside the point," Kain answered darkly. "You defied my direct orders. You know the punishment for traitors."

"Like your pet, Raziel? Between the two of us, you seem to have lost your touch at murder," Zilah cooed.

"I've finished him," Kain replied sharply. Only High Priests Pontius and Nur and his personal guards knew about Raziel's resurrection and Guardianship, he hoped.

She folded her paws in front of her and straightened regally, like a well bred bitch. "I do not believe you are going to kill me. You and I are the last ones standing. We both know you cannot run an entire empire by yourself. That little sword won't be enough. You need me, Kain."

"You're forgetting about Muirchad." Before he died, Rahab spent a century grooming his eldest son Muirchad to take his place as patriarch of the Rahabim. They had worked together to brace the foundations of the empire for Kain's triumphant return. Along with Pontius of the Kainanites and Kain's own army of loyal Turelim and Dumahim, Kain felt well equipped to take back what was rightfully his.

Zilah chuckled. "Fish don't walk on land. Besides, Muirchad is an isolationist, like all of Rahab's children. He's too soft to be of any use to either of us."

Kain smiled knowingly. "I think you're underestimating him. At least he knows how to follow orders, nor does he side with insurgents."

"So you found the refugees. Bravo," Zilah said drolly. "They're dead, aren't they?"

"By the time I leave this city, they will be, along with their accomplices. Consider yourself fortunate, for now. Your day of reckoning is coming. If you want to keep your life, I suggest you rethink your priorities. You can start by shutting down the Eastern Smokestack."

Zilah shook her head. "You are a cruel beast, Kain; but the Zilahim will no longer bow to tyrants."

The double doors to Kain's left opened, as if rehearsed, and a pair of Zilahim marched into the throne room dragging a limping Turelim on a chain. Horrid burns from water scoured the Turelim's chest and lower body. His legs were so badly injured that he seemed about to topple with every step he took. His head and arms were locked in heavy metal stocks secured with an enormous padlock. Spikes, hammered in through the top, further secured his wrists. Forced to lean forward because of the weight, when his handlers stopped pulling him he simply collapsed. Zilah's men had mutilated him, but they left his face unblemished. Kain could see why. This was Bulus, the Turelim Kain had ordered to escort the Death Guardian to the Sanctuary of the Clans. Kain drew the Soul Reaver, flying into a rage. "What have you done with her!?"

He could sense Lamia, still alive, somewhere near Zephonim territory. She had not moved since the last time he checked on her position.

"Why, Kain, you're acting positively paternal. There is no need to worry; I'm no fool, I know better than to kill her. You might actually approve of what I have in mind. What does not kill us only makes us stronger - don't you agree, Bulus?" She smiled. "Bulus told me you gave her a name. Lamia. That sounds a bit like Lamb."

Kain was so livid that for a moment he could not even speak. How could he have allowed this to happen? Painstakingly, he steadied himself. "Great harm will come to Nosgoth if she is hurt."

"I doubt that our situation can become worse than it already is. I have watched these past five centuries as our empire crumbled in your hands. Now humans are running wild in the wastes; the clans are beset with vampire hunters, who are just as well equipped as the crusaders of legend - our superior numbers our only defense. How long can that last? The Melchiahim are extinct, the Zephonim are leaderless, the Rahabim seek isolation, the Dumahim are scattered, and the Razielim..."

She paused, releasing a scornful sigh and shaking her head. "That was your greatest mistake. Let me tell you a secret, Kain. The empire never belonged to you. You were the figurehead - but when we needed guidance, we turned elsewhere. I knew Raziel like a brother. He and Turel had their disagreements, but Turel always knew that if he ever needed him, Raziel would come regardless of the circumstance. I watched, one by one, as the Council drifted further apart until his honor and loyalty were all that held us together. Now look what you have done to him. You turned his love into hate. Every drop of blood he spilled is on your hands."

Kain bared his fangs. Zilah only said these things because she knew that she had the upper-hand. If she had any idea of his circumstances when he ordered Raziel to his death, she would know that even _she_ would not have - _could not_ _have_ acted any differently in his position!

"Now that I have your attention, I want to know the truth. Was all of this worth it to silence an arrogant tongue?"

He refused to dignify her absurd question. He took a small step back and sheathed the Soul Reaver. If Zilah damaged Lamia's psyche the way Ariel's death had damaged Nupraptor, Nosgoth would have a corrupted Guardian of Death. Kain did not know exactly what that would entail. The other corrupted Guardians, himself included, had terrorized and wounded Nosgoth with their incredible powers. He also knew that cleansing the Pillar would require Lamia's death. That was something he honestly did not want to do. For now, he had no choice but to play along.

Zilah allowed the silence to drag on for a minute or two. She gracefully shrugged her massive shoulders, resigned. "It no longer matters. You best put a stop to your men killing my refugees, if you want your little Lamb to keep all of her fingers and toes."

* * *

**AN:** Yep, the Zilahim are basically my idea of a faction within the Turelim. Those loyal to Kain still call themselves Turelim but those loyal to Zilah are the Zilahim. Also pretty much everyone in this chapter except Kain is an OC.

Additionally, for those unfamiliar with Defiance, or who just haven't played it in a while, when Kain is remembering what happened after Raziel's sacrifice, I'm referring to Kain's closing line: "Most ironic of all was the last gift that Raziel had given me, more powerful than the sword that now held his soul, more acute even than the vision his sacrifice had accorded me - the first bitter taste of that terrible illusion: Hope."

Apologies if this chapter is a little unpolished. Since it was so late, I really wanted to get it out as soon as possible.


	24. Rolling the Dice

**AN:** Hopefully this makes up for the lateness of the last chapter!

By the way, chapters 25 and 26 will have lots of violence. If you've made it this far and haven't been disturbed you probably won't be bothered. Still, violence. Lots of it. Enjoy.

* * *

An arc of blood leapt from the fresh wound, pulled into the Reaver's steel by an arcane magnetism. As the crimson rivulets slithered into the Reaver the sword hissed and red waves gleamed across its shining blade. Raziel spun, striking the Turelim from the side. His body was so thick and muscled that even the Reaver could not make a clean cut. The Turelim fell to his knees with the Reaver still stuck in his ribs, held in place by bone and broken armor.

Putting his boot on the Turelim's back for leverage, Raziel tugged hard on the hilt. Although it only took him two seconds to free the blade the sword continued to suck blood from the open wound with ravenous ferocity. The Turelim moaned, dazed. With the sword free, Raziel turned it around and impaled his foe through the back. The Turelim let out a hoarse gasp as the Reaver's tip chipped the floor of Zephon's throne room. He futilely dragged his claws across the floor. Slowly his body slipped to the ground as his eyes rolled back in his massive dog-like head. There was not a drop of blood on the ground.

Raziel extruded the Reaver and stepped away from the body. The ferocity of the Reaver had shredded the vampire's heart. Raziel tumbled backward into Zephon's unoccupied throne, exhausted.

He wore only light armor for the benefit of flight and speed. A dark green banner hung from the right side of his belt, a bold display of Erste Stadt's flag, a compliment to the smaller Razielim banner still flying from the Reaver's pommel. The free-born humans of Erste Stadt were the descendents of escaped Razielim slaves. It seemed oddly fitting.

This time, the Blood Reaver did not sustain him the way it had when he faced his former self in the Sarafan Stronghold. Perhaps this had to do with his severed connection to the wraith blade. Raziel could care less. The Reaver still served its basic function. He had done plenty of killing today, but this was only the beginning.

The place where he fought his brother Zephon was not actually Zephon's throne room. As far as Raziel knew, it was his metamorphosis chamber. The seat where Raziel slumped had not been used in centuries, until recently, of course. In fact there was still a portrait of Zephon before his transformation into a hideous cockroach leaned against the back corner, partially obscured by a green cloth, which had somehow gone unnoticed during the assassination of Zephon's direct predecessor.

He was not surprised that Kain left a Turelim in charge of Zephon's territory after the rebellion. The only surprise was that Kain's regent put up such a strong fight against the Reaver, up until the end. He remembered the wraith blade being much more powerful, even by itself. Raziel exhaled, feeling the burn in his stomach. "This does not bode well…"

...

The Silenced Cathedral, so christened by Zephon at the time of its conquest, was one part city, one part war machine. The Cathedral itself was an ancient device, its construction began a century before Kain raised his lieutenants. It stood at the mouth of a river which flowed from the Great Southern Lake. Designed to emit powerful sound waves across Nosgoth capable of killing vampires, the Cathedral was the most impressive edifice to occupy the lake's shores since the Sarafan Stronghold. No one knew for certain if the device actually worked. In its current state, the Cathedral was badly in need of repairs. However, if it did hold such legendary power, then the Silenced Cathedral was the key to wiping out the clans.

The mechanism was itself the size of a small city. Surrounding the Cathedral, Zephon had constructed massive walls. Inside these walls a second city grew and prospered. Cylinder and dome-shaped buildings rose from the ground. On the walls themselves, houses bulged out like egg sacks. Rope ladders hung from the entrances. Since the Zephonim were renounced for their climbing ability, few structures in the city were accessible by conventional means. Raziel's wings made the difference.

Inside one of these domed houses, the officers of Erste Stadt's vampire hunter army had taken up residence along with the Time Streamer, Raziel. They stood around a table holding a map of the Cathedral and went over the results of the day.

The city was now completely under Erste Stadt's control. As for the Cathedral, the vampire hunters had successfully pushed the remains of Zephon's clan into the deepest reaches of the Cathedral. Hasek's men were focusing on moving the freed slaves into the city, where they would be safe from the Zephonim crawling through the Cathedral's extensive pipes, and tending to the sick.

Kranz's men had done their job destroying the bridge across the river. Although the river was only half the size it once was, about half a mile wide, without the bridge it would be impossible for any ordinary vampire to cross the water. If and when an attack from the Sanctuary came, Kain's troops would be forced to take the long route around, crossing the dry portion of the Great Southern Lake, where an ambush would be waiting.

As for the cultists, those who resisted were killed or captured. Those who went along willingly would be monitored until they proved their trustworthiness. Raziel helped to root out the defectors. If he determined that they would not pose a threat, they were given new weapons and prepared to defend the city.

Raziel found it difficult to focus on the debriefing. His mind seemed not to be his own. He had felt this way ever since he returned from the Chronoplast, but with his impending battle with Kain fast approaching, he found it even more difficult to guard against intrusive thoughts. To make matters worse, he was starving.

Fortunately, he had managed to hunt down one feral human on his old prowling grounds to the east before his flight to meet Brigadier General Kranz. During the day his attention was divided between Kranz and Hasek. At night, the feral humans hid themselves away too well, so despite hours of searching, Raziel would return to the fortified library each morning hungrier and more fatigued than the night before. He never considered feeding off of any of the vampire hunters. He owed them too much.

A few times, he was forced to take desperate measures. The night before this attack his hunger was so intense that he resorted to killing a lone Zephonim he found picking through the ruins of the Razielim city. Her blood tasted cold and foul, so thick and gooey that he almost choked on it. Dead blood was sickening to vampires and her blood was as close as could be while still providing some nourishment. He had considered substituting vampire blood for human in his diet before. Clearly, this could not be his long term strategy. Their blood barely kept him going, the vampire equivalent of living off tree bark.

Animal blood also needed to be crossed off his list of possible alternatives. One of the military's ponies might provide him with a full stomach at least, if he could kill it without attracting attention, which he could not. Smaller animals were impossible to catch and merely wet his tongue. Although rat blood was, by volume, more nourishing than vampire blood, a single rat contained so little sustenance that it was worth neither the effort nor the degradation.

Demon blood would do him no good, either. Better than animal blood, less vitalizing than human blood, demon blood was nonetheless a dangerous dish. He would risk great harm each time he attempted to feed. Besides, even if he managed success at demon hunting, he could not afford to be staggering around drunk all the time. Since he returned from the Chronoplast, he had not even attempted it.

If only he could have a moment alone with one of Zephon's cultists. Sadly, they were under heavy guard.

With the debriefing over, Hasek walked behind him and gave him what he presumed to be a friendly tap on the shoulder. Raziel drew up his wings instinctively, unnerved. "Come upstairs, I want to talk to you," said Hasek.

Had he not been expecting that tap, he might have almost punched him. Being a Time Streamer sometimes had its advantages.

There was nothing more for him to do here, so he followed Hasek up the staircase and into a room which had become Hasek's quarters. There was a large, oval window mounted on the sloped wall, looking out over the city, and a bit of furniture belonging to the recently evicted Zephonim. Hasek poured a cup of something that looked like alcohol and offered it to him. "I wanted a chance to thank you for everything. By the way, I've been promoted to Major."

Raziel politely declined with a gesture. The smell was enough to turn him off. He doubted it would have the desired effect. If his stomach was not already knotted with hunger pains, he might have been tempted to try it out of blind hope. "Your thanks is premature. We still have a long road ahead of us."

The new Major smiled anyway. "This is the first time the military has captured a territory in the south. From here, we might even be able to mount an attack on the Sanctuary of the Vampire Lord."

Frowning, Raziel turned toward the window. Kain represented his last connection to the old world. He did not want to kill him, and yet he believed that he must die in order for Nosgoth to be safe. Kairos and Vorador both believed he was dangerous. More importantly, Kain's plans for Nosgoth ran contradictory to everything Raziel had in mind. They would not do Nosgoth any favors by rebuilding Kain's toxic empire. Least of all, Kain needed to die so that Raziel could at last be free of the source of all his tragedy.

Hasek went on, beaming, "We never could have accomplished this without you. You knew exactly the right moment to strike against the Spider King. Now we finally have a fortified position in the south, not to mention a brand new stockpile of material and weapons. With all the slaves we've freed we'll be able to build up the military and capture another city, free their slaves, and so on. If you keep these predictions up, it should be a breeze." He stopped suddenly, looking at Raziel and sobering. "I know there is still a lot to be done, but I want you to know, you made a difference in people's lives."

Unmoved by Hasek's praise, Raziel said, "Once preparations are finished here, I am going to face the Vampire Lord in single combat. I cannot foresee the outcome of this fight. If I fail, everything we accomplished today will be meaningless."

The gravity of all that pressed down on him even harder. If he died, or if Kain's Soul Reaver shattered, all of Nosgoth would be destroyed due to the fatal paradox. It was a risky gamble. The odds against Kain listening to reason without force were long. Even longer were the odds that Raziel could look him in the eyes without vomiting.

Kain did not have a choice when he condemned him to die. Raziel could accept that. What he could not accept was how Kain had done nothing to repair the damage left in his wake. Now whenever Raziel slept he rolled the dice against visions of prophecy or nightmares of his past. He flinched at harmless things and burned with shame for his irrational fears. The vortex of the abyss and the oppression of his cruel Benefactor were tortures worse than anything he endured under Kain's boot. His soul ached with unfulfilled longing; for his wives, for his children, for his brothers, for laughter, for redemption, for dreamless sleep, for long, lazy nights among friends, for Klara's music and Alexander's tics, for all of the precious, simple joys he took for granted. Not a day passed when he did not grieve. Often he kept himself busy, found ways to wrap himself up in a protective shell of duties and obligations, but whenever he found a quiet moment grief crept up on him with poison fangs bared.

"You're not going to fail. If you are concerned about facing him, you have no reason to do it alone."

Raziel sighed heavily, giving Hasek a hard look. "How many men do you want to lose tonight? You will need as many hands as possible to defend the Cathedral while I am away, even with the bridge out. This will not be easy."

Even Vorador, a vampire he barely knew, took the time to say a few kind words. It had become painfully obvious that Kain was far too self-interested to take serious notice of him. Kain had always let him down, ever since his execution. There was no reason to believe he would not do it again. Raziel could no longer stomach it.

Once he almost found it in himself to give Kain a second chance. It was tentative, but it was probably more than he deserved. At the time he still had it in him to be optimistic about the future. After watching Janos die in the Anatopism, he could not risk another crushing disappointment. He had pinned so many hopes on rescuing his dear friend and one time mentor. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see Janos screaming for mercy. Janos' voice exploded with the cries of everyone he had failed to protect.

Hasek approached him professionally, concern barely concealed. "This isn't like you. If there's something you're not telling me –"

"What would you know about me?" Raziel snapped, momentarily forgetting himself. As Hasek backed away he struggled to save face. "I am about to challenge the most powerful being on Nosgoth to a fight to the death – and for the first time I have absolutely no idea how it is going to end. I would not say I am in a good mood."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to imply." Saying nothing, Hasek took a swig from his glass and looked out the window.

Killing Kain would not make the grief stop. He knew this because he had killed Kain before. But, for a time, his victory in Avernus had put Kain out of his mind. That was all he wanted; just a moment to escape this madness.

Contrary to what Kain believed, Raziel was not indestructible. He had a very high tolerance for psychological anguish. For the first time in his life he could see the ceiling of his resilience. He was so close he could almost touch it.

The silence ended with Hasek taking a deep, abiding breath. "Let me tell you something. The night after you took me to that cave, I didn't sleep at all. Not a wink. I kept thinking, my god, I wish Chloe could have seen that. I wish we could have lived in that world." Hasek turned to face him. "Almost everyone in Erste Stadt has lost someone like Chloe. Wives, daughters, husbands, sons. Most of the time, it's starvation. Food is hard to grow and it's expensive. Even the people selling food in the markets look like they barely get enough to eat. I knew parents who had to choose between feeding themselves or feeding their children. Think of all the people who wouldn't have to die if we lived in a world like the one you showed me."

Raziel simply shut his eyes. "Hasek, I doubt you will live to see that world. If I succeed it may be centuries before Nosgoth sees another spring."

Happily, Hasek replied, "Well, so be it."

What Hasek said helped a little, once Raziel gave it time to sink in. At least someone seemed to have faith in him. Raziel would kill Kain or die trying. His heart felt so numb, he did not particularly care how the dice fell.

Changing subjects, Hasek added, "I think it's about time you had a proper place to live. Warm hearth, cozy bed. I can convince Kranz to pull some strings to get you a house in Erste Stadt. It won't be too hard; he already wants you on the military's payroll."

At least Hasek had not said _home._ Although he had grown attached to his hovel in the Oracle's Cave, he could see the advantages of living in Erste Stadt, if he survived long enough to use the opportunity. In spite of everything, he still had plans. At this point plans were all that kept him going. He sighed, "Although I appreciate the offer, there's no need to pay me."

Hasek looked cagey. "Trust me, you'll want it. The rent may be free but everything else has a price, even for you."

Annoyed, Raziel answered, "I assure you, my needs are minimal."

"Okay, okay. But I wouldn't decide too quickly. This is about more than money. Kranz wants to be sure you know who you work for."

His lips curled back with contempt. "Kranz is sadly mistaken if he presumes I will fall so easily under his control. I do not work for anyone. You _people_ are working for me."

Hasek finished off his glass and set it on the windowsill. "Listen, everyone here is on the military's payroll for a reason. These men have families to feed. The military is steady, well paying work, and most of us would rather die on the end of a sword than starve to death in the city. I'm not like them. I have nothing to lose, but I understand their point of view because I used to share it. Now I'd follow you to hell and back for the lint in your pockets. Most of these men won't lift a finger if they have to watch their families starve."

Raziel clenched his jaw ever harder as Hasek went on, unable to keep a straight face. He never considered the possibility of working under the Brigadier General because, in Kain's empire, military rank was mostly a matter of reputation and skill. If his superior refused to bend his knee he could challenge him for rank. By all rights, he should be at the top of the heap. But this was not Kain's world.

If he submitted to these rules he would be placing himself directly under Kranz's control. At any moment Kranz could take away his authority, depriving him of the army he needed to take back Nosgoth. According to Hasek, there was not a damn thing he could do about that. "I see."

"Sorry," Hasek responded gently, but honestly. "You should take his offer. You and Kranz share a common enemy."

He shook his head, furious. "Kranz knows nothing about the Pillars. Our goals may be similar, but… I know he only wants to use me for his own ends. I cannot allow this."

"You won't be alone. When I have time, I can try to round up some followers for you. I'm far from the only man in the military or Erste Stadt with nothing to lose. I can't promise much."

"No, I'll find another way." He had no idea how he would go about doing that after committing high treason by capturing the Silenced Cathedral in the name of the humans. He wanted to rip off Erste Stadt's banner and throw it out the window. It served as a potent reminder that he was alone, a stranger in a strange land, and with Janos dead and beyond recovery, he would always be lost.

"Well, you do what you have to do. I trust you. In the meantime, I think you need this more than I will tonight. She's done a fine job watching over me all these years."

Raziel glanced at Hasek holding out Chloe's necklace. It was this item Hasek had challenged him to identify to prove his powers. Raziel wondered if he was the only person who knew that Hasek carried it. Frowning, he shook his head. "I don't believe in superstition."

"Maybe this isn't about superstition. You made a believer out of me. Now's no time to be doubting yourself."

What then, a token of appreciation? If Hasek knew the truth behind his identity, he would never trust him with an object he held so dear. Raziel wished he could refuse. Hesitantly, only to placate him, he accepted the necklace and tied it around his belt near the flag at his hip. At least Hasek's trinket was too small to create a liability. He might even forget it was there. "Thank you, Hasek. I'll try not to lose it."

"You'll do fine. We're all behind you, even if it doesn't seem that way."

"Of course." Raziel began to wonder what gave Hasek cause to say these things. Perhaps he had been allowing his messianic persona to slip around Hasek. It could hardly be helped. No matter how hard he tried certain things kept slipping out of his grasp.

In any case, it was time for him to leave, once he checked that everyone was on schedule. This entire event needed to be precisely timed. He needed to reach his next target while Kain was still occupied with Zilah. As Raziel turned away from Hasek, he swallowed the lump in his throat.


	25. A Line Crossed

**AN:** Once again, violence and cursing ahead for chapter 25 and 26.

* * *

He should feel fortunate that Zilah did not punish Lamia for the refugees his men had already killed, Zilah said. _Fortunate!_

What a load of shit.

The Silenced Cathedral towered on the southern side of the lake near the river mouth. It was now late afternoon. Kain's paws tore up the dry earth as he and his Turelim guards charged across the dry lakebed toward the Sanctuary. Piles of white fur flowed around his bulging muscles, carrying the scent of smoke from the Zilahim territory. A chill breeze blew in from the north, but Kain was hot with rage and indignation.

Negotiations for Lamia's safe return had gone poorly. Zilah had no intention of returning the girl until she felt certain of Kain's cooperation. She gave no consideration to the consequences, of which he had tried in vain to make her aware. Allowing the sun to shine once more would cause the Zilahim discomfort. Furthermore, she believed that such an act would be taken by the humans as a sign of weakness, leading to revolt. She would rather die comfortably than suffer a minor inconvenience for the good of Nosgoth.

Zilah would only consider returning Lamia if he allowed her to return all the eastern smokestacks to function. He granted her two: the Great Eastern Smokestack, which she had already restored against his wishes, and the Blackest Heart to the north, which had once belonged to Dumah. She would find restoring the Blackest Heart to difficult, for Kain had sent a saboteur weeks ago.

Everywhere he looked the empire was disintegrating. After the death of their mad king Zephon, having no more reason to remain at the dilapidated Silenced Cathedral, the Zephonim rebelled because they believed they would find better opportunities in the wastes. Most of the clans had dispersed, dissented, or ceased to exist. Apart from a handful of Dumahim and Turelim, only the Rahabim maintained their stability and loyalty to Kain.

At least now he and Raziel shared a common enemy. Perhaps that convince him to listen to reason the next time he appeared.

The clans' cooperation was necessary to restore Nosgoth. Kain did not know how Zilah discovered the location of the Death Guardian. Obviously, there was a spy in his midst. In any case, this proved the clans' willingness to exploit the newly born Guardians to their own ends and hold Nosgoth hostage. Kain felt coldly certain that if it were not for the loyalty of the Rahabim, Turelim, and Dumahim, strengthened and held together by Soul Reaver's power, Zilah would have attacked the Sanctuary directly by now.

Although Kain possessed a large army, their reach was limited. The Zilahim were far more mobile than the Rahabim. The combination of Turelim and Dumahim soldiers in Kain's army made them a force to be reckoned with, but they were not in the majority. The Zephonim were of little use, except as spies, and he knew that the refugees Zilah took under her wing would gladly work for her; whereas those under his control in the Cathedral would require intense persuasion.

Nosgoth's humans were no less a threat. If he allowed them to run wild, they would claim the Pillars for themselves once more and begin the whole sick cycle again. With so many cracks forming at once, the united humans were already in a position to begin a hostile takeover, if they knew when and where to strike. Fortunately, they seemed content to keep to themselves in the north for now. Fear of Kain and the Soul Reaver rendered them tame.

There were problems Raziel simply refused to understand because he was so idealistic. His beliefs had convinced Kain to stay his hand more than once during the golden age of the empire. Though Kain saw little merit in ethics, at one time Raziel's principals had indeed proved useful (although he did not give him as much credit as Zilah). This was no golden age. Nosgoth did not want peace. Blood and chaos were the flavors of the times. If he came to Nosgoth with an olive branch, she would tear off his arm and devour it.

Within a mile of the Sanctuary, something made the hairs on Kain's back prickle. The wind shifted, bringing the smell of blood. Vampire blood. Giving a signal to his followers, Kain charged toward the Sanctuary at full speed. By the time the party arrived outside the Sanctuary, they were an hour too late.

When the Sanctuary of the Clans was built, Kain already knew that he would execute Raziel centuries later. He knew that Raziel would return from the abyss a phantom of his former self with ruined wings and a heart filled with vengeance. As far as he had known, Raziel would never regain his wings. He designed the Sanctuary as a fortress capable of repelling any force on earth. The one thing he never counted on was an attack from above.

The ramparts were deserted; the bodies of the guards hung from the battlements or lay strewn across the ground. Some were headless, others had massive holes in their chests. Crows picked over their corpses. One terrible thought entered his mind:

Chrysanta.

Kain could still sense her somewhere inside the Sanctuary. Was she hurt? What about Buttercup and his other slaves? He transformed back into his vampire form and bellowed a command, "Search the Sanctuary!"

The dumbfounded Turelim leapt into action. Entering through the main hall, the massive doors to which had been left precariously open, Kain charged through the desecrated Sanctuary like a bull. A pair of Dumahim attempting to clean up the mess in the courtyard fled behind some columns as Kain ran past. The survivors had wisely hidden themselves away. They knew that heads would roll. Following Chrysanta's aura, Kain turned down a winding hallway that circled what had once been his throne room, constructed around the Pillars themselves. Here, Kain skidded to a stop, distracted by the hilt of a sword sticking out of the double doors. Someone had left him a message.

Stuck into the door with a sword, a grey Zephonim flag hung in plain sight. This flag had clearly not come from the Sanctuary. It actually looked rather new. Well, used to. A crude symbol had been drawn over Zephon's crest in blood with a cloven hand. Kain knew it well. Since Raziel's execution, the clans had perverted this once symbol to represent traitors and shame. To Kain alone, the symbol brought to mind the cruel, callous nature of fate, the end of his empire, and the bitter memory of a former ally. The sight caused him to tremble with rage. There were no words written here, for Raziel's message needed none. The meaning was crystal: _Come and get me. _

Ripping down the flag, Kain kicked open the doors of the throne room and charged through. The bodies of several Turelim and Dumahim littered the ground around the Pillars. Paying them no mind, he ran toward the Pillar of Time and stood before the tower of pure white stone, disbelieving. He dropped the bloody Zephonim flag. There were no signs of corruption here.

No matter. Uncorrupted or corrupted, Raziel had chosen his fate.

Leaving the throne room, Kain bolted down a corridor. Ordinarily he did not think Raziel would slaughter house slaves, but the bodies he discovered along the way told him otherwise. The vicious bite marks on their necks suggested Raziel had been feeding ravenously. For Raziel to be this hungry, he was most certainly not feeding off of the vampire hunters to the north.

So now he knew how Raziel captured the Silenced Cathedral. He was regressing. Perhaps his new human friends had aided in the attack on the Sanctuary as well.

Kain stopped abruptly, sensing the Nature Guardian near. Using telekensis Kain lifted a heavy stone tile. Underneath was a ladder. Kain leapt down. A female Turelim lunged at him. He drew the Soul Reaver defensively, as a warning. Nogah skidded to a terrified halt and groveled at his feet. "My lord, I apologize!"

"Where is Chrysanta?" Kain barked, uninterested.

"Follow me," Nogah replied, leading him down the tunnel. She bounded on all fours like a dog. At the end of the tunnel Kain found Buttercup and Chrysanta, along with several of his house slaves, huddled together under the protection of a few Dumahim guards.

Spotting Kain for the first time, Buttercup rose from the floor with the young Nature Guardian wrapped up in a blanket in her arms. Kain sheathed the Soul Reaver and went to her. As Buttercup passed Chrysanta into his arms, Kain inspected the child, and finding her unhurt felt an enormous weight leave his chest. The child stirred, blinking her precious eyes and turning her head, unaware of her near brush with death.

He would not put it past Raziel to kill children. He had done as much during the war, under orders, so Kain knew he was capable. Raziel might never have harmed a child of his own volition before; however, given his recent transgressions, Kain dared not underestimate him. A familiar drama was playing out before his eyes. This time, Kain did not know how it would end. With room to stand, Nogah rose and humbly went to his side. He turned to her. "Where are the other survivors?"

Nogah's ears fell. "I do not know. When Raziel attacked, I gathered Buttercup and the others and moved us to safety as quickly as possible."

"You did well, Nogah. The vampires Raziel killed were expendable. Chrysanta is not." Kain reluctantly passed her back to Buttercup. "I want you all to stay where you are. I'll send a guard back for you once I've completed my sweep of the Sanctuary."

"Yes, my lord," Nogah agreed, bowing her head.

Back in the hallway, Kain closed the hatch. There were secrets in the Sanctuary that even Raziel did not know. Thank goodness for that.

If Raziel brought any humans with him, Kain found no sign of them; he appeared to have come alone, adding insult to injury. The attack was quick and precise. From their time in the war he knew Raziel to be an expert infiltrator. However, his skills had their limits. As a wraith he had deftly slithered his way through dozens of fortifications that, as a vampire, he would have struggled to breach. This brought up a troubling revelation. Since Raziel's resurrection, Kain assumed he had reverted completely back to his former self. Apart from his time streaming abilities, about which Kain knew only the basics, he had no idea what Raziel might be capable of now.

As he continued his sweep he was met by Haidar, one of his Turelim bodyguards. He rose to his hind legs, ears laid back submissively, huge arms held in front of him like an over-sized rabbit. Haidar's frightened posture told Kain that he had bad news. "My lord, the slave barracks have been raided."

"How many stolen?"

"Twenty, at least."

Kain seethed. Raziel had gone too far this time.

He could sense Raziel to the north. He turned to Haidar. "Gather as many men as you can spare and head for the Silenced Cathedral. If there are any Zephonim alive, they will require our assistance to take back their capitol. I will join you once I have put down Raziel."

...

The flock of bats spiraled through the mountain peaks and sped toward the distant Lake of the Dead. How ironic that Raziel should choose this as his final resting place, despite his former protests. Regardless of the allegiances of their past, Kain had a responsibility to maintain order in his empire. He could not abide another traitor. He already tolerated too many.

And here was the vampire himself. He stood on the central platform above the whirlpool, proud and obstinate. Kain's flock descended into a black whirlwind on the platform. As he manifested he reached for the Soul Reaver on his shoulder, fangs bared. "You should have kept flying, whelp."

"As should you, Kain," Raziel coldly replied.

Hand on the Soul Reaver, Kain faltered, distracted by a familiar sensation; a dizzying fluctuation that filled him with dread. His eyes settled on the Razielim banner flying from the sword mounted on Raziel's back. He watched, horrified, as Raziel drew the Reaver. Kain backed away, hand lowered.

Raziel gripped the Reaver in both hands. He spread his legs, his boots grinding against the rough ground. His gaze was unwavering. "Draw your weapon, Kain."

There was no mistaking it; he did not know how, but that weapon Raziel bore could only be a past version of the Soul Reaver. History itself strained at the proximity of their two swords. Two and yet one; a paradox.

He had seen the destruction caused when two versions of the sword met before. He had no idea what Raziel hoped to accomplish with this reckless act, but the consequences threatened to unravel everything they had fought to accomplish. "What in hell...? Have you lost your mind!?"

Raziel eyed him acidly. "It's very tempting to kill you while you stand there trembling. But I'm not like you, Kain. I'm not a murderer. So take out your weapon and we can finish this like old friends."

"Do not think you can lecture me on ethics while you hold a sword to Nosgoth's throat. You've put the entire world in jeopardy for a petty grudge against me."

"Unlike you, I have nothing to lose. Or haven't you realized that already? Did you ever once consider the consequences _I_ would face because of your actions!?"

"Why would I ever consider such a thing when I had no choice!? How many times must I tell you - even if I had a choice, I knew that you alone were the key to Nosgoth's salvation." He held out his hands, imitating a scale, and balled his fists. "These are the cold facts: One man suffers, all of Nosgoth is redeemed. I refuse to waste energy lamenting the truth."

Raziel seethed. "You hypocritical, vainglorious recreant! It had to be anyone but you!"

"That is not the point! I tried to make it right."

Steadying himself, he lowered his sword a fraction. "Alright. If that was your only reason, prove it to me. Show me you can listen to reason. Surrender the Soul Reaver. Prove you would take it all back if you could."

"You've done precious little to inspire my trust!" Kain roared.

Raziel did not seem surprised. He raised his weapon. "Then draw your sword."

Taking a step back, Kain drew the Soul Reaver with a scowl. "I've destroyed beings far more durable than you to preserve Nosgoth's future. You are not fit to serve the Pillar of Time. As Scion of Balance, you leave me no choice."

They circled one another, surrounded by the roaring of the falls and the wobbling of the time. Kain knew he possessed an advantage here. For two thousand years he had trained with the Soul Reaver alone, until he achieved total mastery of this single weapon. Raziel had honed his skills on a variety of weapons. He knew the ones Raziel favored: quarterstaves and spears, short swords, and axes. He even used the wraith blade like a short sword, though it was the same size as its physical counterpart (if not the same weight). Raziel practiced with bastard swords, too, but Kain knew he had not used one in centuries. It showed.

As Kain lunged at him the distortion caused his vision to ripple. When his eyes cleared he found Raziel standing several feet away, having dodged his attack. Waiting or hesitating?

Hesitating.

Lips peeled back, Kain charged at him. Their flamberges collided. The steel hummed and whistled on contact, and the eyes of the Soul Reaver awakened with blue fire.

They withdrew in the almost the same instant. When he fought William, William's Soul Reaver had not shattered on first contact with its twin. Kain would always remember the ringing of broken steel. It gave him pause. Raziel swung at him again - but Kain blocked the attack with ease and pushed him back. Each time Raziel attacked Kain simply outmaneuvered him.

He could see the problem. The weight of the Reaver threw Raziel off balance. He was fighting against the sword with every swing he took. Kain noticed something else as well. While the eyes of the Soul Reaver flamed, Raziel's sword was dormant. Unlike William's Soul Reaver, it was not an exact copy; it lacked Raziel's twin soul. Without that, Kain wondered if the paradox would be strong enough to break the steel at all.

As they traded blows, Kain watched Raziel's face slowly start to fall. Kain felt his mouth curl into a sneer. He hated that look on him. Raziel had passion and ability, but he let his heart get in the way. That was always his problem.

Raziel could have killed him in the Chronoplast. He had free will then, too, the power of the wraith blade, and all the desire in the world to see his maker dead. But he kept hesitating. Up until their battle in the Chronoplast, Kain had had his doubts that he would be able to convince Raziel to spare his life at the crucial moment. Finally, Raziel had him pinned against the wall, claws to his throat. All he had to do was put the wraith blade through his chest, but one look at those ghostly white eyes told Kain that Raziel was not going to do that. The look on Raziel's blighted face made him smile. That was when he knew that he was going to win.

When they met again at the Pillars, in the past, Raziel again had him at his mercy. Instead of stabbing him in the back, Raziel had allowed him to give his speech and walk away without a scratch. Later, when Kain literally handed him the instrument of his own death, Raziel still refused to deliver the killing blow with every ounce of his free will. At the time, that had made all the difference. Now it disgusted him. Raziel was going to let himself die again - not because he wished to - but because he lacked the courage to kill his only family.

There was a fine line between love and hate. Raziel could not point it out, even when he was standing right on top of it. As the Reavers connected the distortion became so intense that time itself thumped in Kain's ears as the blades jostled. Standing inches apart, Kain raised his voice above the drumming, "You're not going to kill me."

Raziel grunted, pushed back by Kain. His boots carved furrows into the ground. "I've done it before."

"And you regretted it."

Raziel's eyes bulged. With all his force, Kain shoved him back. As Raziel stumbled Kain took one hand off the Soul Reaver to gather raw magical energy in his claws. The energy struck Raziel in the form of a lightning bolt. Screaming in pain, Raziel dropped to his knees, clinging to the Reaver for support. Kain approached him casually, without pity. Gritting his teeth, Raziel tried to stand, but a second lightning bolt threw him onto his back and held him there, letting him writhe and howl. When Kain released him he lay on the ground, twitching and gasping for breath while trying not to wretch.

Kain sighed disgracefully. He backed away from Raziel in a widening circle to escape the distortion that surrounded him. "Be honest with yourself, Raziel. Is this all you are? A hurt child begging for the comfort of his father?"

When the distortion became tolerable he stopped, watching Raziel with a detached gaze. "I remember what you said on the day of your execution. You did not beg for your life. Instead, you asked simply to stand. I know you can stand. If there is anything left of the vampire I called my son, he deserves to die on his feet."

Raziel made a hissing noise. Kain could not tell whether he was laughing or crying. "I am not your son."

Kain drew a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, the sound drowned out by the vicious waters that surrounded them. "Very well."

He marched toward Raziel, where he lay on the ground, his pale flesh singed from electricity. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, breathing easy; his expression curiously serene, as it had been when he sacrificed himself in the Vampire Citadel. Perhaps Raziel had grown too fond of death. As Kain closed the distance the distortion caused by the two Reavers increased. Kain had the impression of simultaneously walking forward and back.

Executing Raziel had not been terribly difficult. Yes, he had loved Raziel as a son, but all good things must end. In fact, he had been preparing for that day for nearly a thousand years, resigned himself to Raziel's inevitable execution. Unlike Raziel, Kain knew when to put love aside.

As far as he was concerned, the real Raziel died on this spot five hundred years ago. Now he barely recognized him. On the outside, he looked as he had on the day of his execution, but on the inside he was soft and frightened. If he had reduced his son to this, then that was merely disappointing. He had thought Raziel could shoulder his great destiny. Apparently, he had been wrong. Raziel was broken.

A few feet from him, Kain took what he believed to be his final look at Raziel as he tightened his grip on the Soul Reaver. Suddenly Raziel rolled onto his side and Kain found himself being lifted off the ground by telekinetic shackles. His mouth fell open, fangs revealed. _Dirty trick!_

Before he could speak he felt himself being hurled over the edge of the platform toward the roiling waters. Raziel should have known better. Darkness engulfed him as his body split into a horde of bats. The flock swooped back onto the platform. As he rematerialized Raziel lunged at him with the Reaver. Kain sidestepped, slamming the hilt of the Soul Reaver into the side of Raziel's skull. As he collapsed, Kain staggered backward, shocked by the bloody gash across his chest and the sight of his blood leaping into the Reaver. The wound closed quickly, however, denying the Reaver its blood thirst. Raziel stumbled to his feet, unbalanced, the side of his head dented and ringed with blood. The wound was already healing.

Raziel charged him. Kain deflected the Reaver. The sound of their swords connecting rang through time and space. Raziel kept swinging, pounding Reaver against Soul Reaver, screaming with neither words nor mercy. The eyes of Kain's sword, containing Raziel's twin soul, blazed spectral blue and the steel itself snarled in protest at the beating. Kain slowly retreated, reflecting blow after blow, his face peeling back with slowly dawning horror.

While Raziel was too slow and inexperienced with the great sword to land a fair strike, he was also so quick on his feet that Kain struggled to exploit his weak points, leading to a precarious balance. The temporal distortion was rising to a crescendo. Kain had felt this one before, moments before William's Soul Reaver shattered. Unless one of them relented the sword would break. But the moment one of them hesitated, the other would strike to kill. Even if Raziel did not truly want to kill him he swung the Reaver with such abandon that it would tear him apart regardless the instant he tried to surrender.

They were now fighting near the edge of the abyss. Kain saw the opportunity to end this. His body turned pale white and his legs coiled as his solid mass dissipated into mist form. Raziel's Reaver sliced through him harmlessly. In the same instant Kain threw himself through Raziel. He covered his face, momentarily disoriented.

Standing behind him, Kain's body solidified as he gathered energy into the palm of his hand. Raziel whirled around just as the blast of telekinetic energy struck him in the chest. He slammed into the ground, hitting his back against the edge of the platform, and his body tumbled into the abyss. There was not even a scream. Kain crept to the edge and looked over as the temporal distortion faded.

Far below, the whirlpool snarled. Although Raziel might no longer be vulnerable to water, the current was so strong as to tear his body apart regardless, and in the chaos he would surely lose his grip on the Reaver. Even if he survived, he could never swim to the surface.

Kain tried to sense the Time Guardian. Nothing. Stepping back from the abyss, Kain mounted the Soul Reaver with a heavy sigh. Raziel's twin soul rattled in its prison. At least this way Raziel would not have to join it again.

Turning his back on the void, Kain took on the form of his flock and headed for the Silenced Cathedral.

* * *

**AN:** Two more chapters to go! Hang onto your butts!


	26. Destinies Collide

A sharp pain burst through his back as he hit the edge of the platform. Rocks came lose, cracking and spitting up dust as he tumbled over the ledge. And then he was falling.

Once more the freezing air ripped through his hair, except this time instead of falling straight he was spinning in all directions. For a split second, the sound of the vortex rising up to crush him reduced him to a state of paralyzed terror. As he flipped he caught a glimpse of the wall of mist flying toward him and remembered the feeling of tiny drops of water boring into his skin like maggots into a corpse, the sound of steam hissing from his burning pores coupled with the odor of singed flesh, the taste of vomit still acid in his mouth after Kain tore the wings from his back. Wings!

Raziel opened his wings and tried to catch the air. The moment he unfurled them, the moist air struck him like a wave, filled his membranes and sent him into another violent spin. His wrist ached as he fought against the weight of the Reaver. While he plummeted, he managed to keep his grip.

He remembered hitting the abyssal waters for the first time, before his brother's soul baptized him against its acidic touch. For an instant he had thought the burning stopped. Instead, the impact of the water had blinded him to all other pain. Water had demonstrated its second power against him, almost as terrible as the burning: it had slammed into him like the side of a mountain, breaking his ribs on impact. It would happen again. This time he would not burn. He would simply shatter. _If_ he hit the water.

Raziel stopped struggling. Closing his eyes, he folded his wings tight against his body and focused on finding the sheath with the tip of the Reaver while the walls of water descended upon him. As the Reaver slid into place he reached back with his other hand and secured it using the strap which Vorador had added. The falls swelled around him, a giant's roar. But Raziel had taught himself how to fall.

White mist swallowed him up. He could feel the beads of water sliding over his skin, cool and strangely soothing. They reminded him of the first time he felt water against his skin - his bare muscle - after he killed Rahab.

He remembered throwing himself into the water, expecting horrific pain, and experiencing weightlessness. When he opened his eyes and looked around he had seen his blue, ruined wings floating delicately in the still water. As the fear slowly diminished he had watched his own hair drift in front of his face as he turned his head underwater, waving in front of his eyes almost as if it had a mind of its own, and felt a faint tickle in the back of what remained of his throat. The element that had destroyed him had turned out to be gentle. He forgave the water for hurting him, learned to treasure that which he once feared.

Now, in defiance of the abyss, Raziel's body began to sink into a different realm. Green lights danced off his flesh like water droplets being pulled upward by the massive winds that gathered above the whirlpool. As he left the Material Realm his descent slowed and as numbness touched the tips of his fingers and he began to speed downward once more. He adjusted his angle of attack and threw open his wings.

(~ When he had fallen through the vortex and the waters swept him up, ripping flesh from muscle and burning him black and blue, the waters of the abyss had, at the very least, the courtesy to deposit his broken body softly at the bottom of the Lake of the Dead.

As he descended, spinning through the narrow funnel, his wings fought for control. The weight of the Reaver made it more difficult to pull up, even though he had momentarily stopped. When he thought that he had control he instead found himself thrown through the water shadows. The water could no longer harm him, but the rocky walls of the sinkhole were perilous. His side slammed into a wall, momentarily stunning him, and he plummeted. At the last moment he managed to take control of his descent, but it was too late. Raziel ploughed headfirst into the sediment. He screamed as the unforgiving ground tore bits of skin from his chest as he skidded against the ground.

Lying at the bottom of the abyss, Raziel painstakingly pushed himself up again. He hunched, clutching his bruised arm as a black drop of blood slid down the side of his nose. "Damn it…"

He was alive. However, he was also injured. His wings protested as he spread them, sending sharp jolts of pain through his fingers; badly bruised, but not broken. He tried flapping them. They rustled his messy hair, aching as he moved them. Standing in the center of the chamber, he craned his throbbing head back and gazed into the inverted vortex high above.

This was the place where he awoke after his execution, where he first heard the voice of his Benefactor. Now the chamber appeared to be empty. As Raziel had learned during his last trip to the past, in the underbelly of the Sarafan Stronghold, appearances could be deceiving.

There was another path out of this chamber. He had taken it before; it was familiar. The path had led him almost one hundred miles south, where he emerged near Zephon's territory. These underground waterways, the nests of his Benefactor, stretched all across Nosgoth. Raziel knew he could not survive long enough in the Spectral Realm to use the old exit. With his wings he might be able to find an alternative route. Perhaps, straight up?

Raziel crouched and spread his wings to their fullest. He grit his teeth, bracing himself against the pain. Only the tips of his wings were too numb to feel the sting. When he felt ready, he leapt into the air as high as he could and started flapping. He hovered for a moment, feeling the ache in his wings spread into his back. As he slowly started to rise he gained momentum, flying toward freedom.

He focused on his goal: reach the surface, kill Kain. He had given Kain more second chances than he deserved and had had them all thrown back in his face. He even allowed himself to be fooled into thinking that the young Kain held a tiny spark of vulnerability and humanity, but he saw now that it was all in his mind, a symptom of the intense training and brainwashing he received as a fledgling vampire. His mind would never truly be his own until he expelled the parasite.

But Raziel soon found himself fighting the physical limitations of his young wings and battered body. Stiffening his wings, he kicked up his legs and dove, driving his claws into the stone walls of the abyss. Hand over hand, he hauled himself up the sinkhole.

As he climbed he let go of his thoughts for a moment, astonished by the utter silence of the abyss. The roaring waters which would have wrenched him from his perch in the Material Realm hung almost still in the Spectral Realm. High above him, the eye of the vortex gaped at the sky. Raziel barely managed to inhale. He had never seen the Lake of the Dead from this angle before. The sight of the sky granted him renewed strength.

Nearing the top of the chasm, Raziel spread his wings and threw himself into the air again. He flew through the formless waters of the Lake of the Dead and breached the surface without leaving a ripple in his wake. There, straight above, was the platform from which he had been thrown. Hurling himself toward the rocks, he latched his claws onto the ledge and pulled himself over it. ~)

On his hands and knees, Raziel shuddered as feeling returned to his extremities and with it – agony. Now that he was out of the Spectral Realm he could feel the cuts on his chest close and the bleeding stop. It would happen faster if he stayed still. Squinting, he lifted his head and caught sight of a black mass flying on the horizon, headed south east. "Kain... no."

He knew exactly where Kain was going. The vampire hunters should be able to hold off Kain's vampires from their fortified position, but with the Soul Reaver, Kain would tip the odds.

Ignoring the protests of his weakened body, Raziel stood and ran across the rope bridge connecting the platform to the mainland. The planks rattled beneath him in a disorganized wave. When he reached the other side he tried to leap into the air. Still not completely healed, exhausted from strenuous vertical flight, his wings failed to hold him and he fell, hitting the ground with a stumble. He almost fell. Throwing out his arms, he caught his balance and kept running. Unless he could get airborne soon he would lose the flock.

The path down which Raziel sprinted should have been a familiar one. He had walked down it many times. Once, he was even dragged on his knees. Time had changed it. There used to be grass; once green, then brown and brittle. Now there was none. The flags that marked the path had been destroyed by time and weather. Here and there, a rusted metal rod marked a place where a banner once flew.

Once more Raziel threw himself into the air. This time his wings held. Rising into the air, he propelled himself toward Kain's bats. He pursued him relentlessly, losing no ground to the flapping of Kain's many wings, yet the ground he gained was inconsequential compared to Kain's lead. There was a long flight ahead of them.

Raziel had chosen the Lake of the Dead for its isolation rather than simple irony. The fastest route from the Sanctuary to the lake was by air, so he knew Kain would have no choice but to come alone. The fear the lake inspired granted them privacy. It did not surprise him that Kain had attempted to recreate his execution. He cursed himself for failing to recover quickly enough.

Every muscle of his back and torso burned furiously until the pain brought moisture to his eyes. He needed to close the distance between them, for Kain had started out with a lead of more than a mile, yet his muscles strained and frayed the harder he pushed them. He could only rest and heal by slowing down. Gliding would not do; Kain was flying too fast. Yet his body could only do so much. At this speed, Raziel was damaging his muscles almost as quickly as his body could heal them. Finally, out of the distance, the Silenced Cathedral rose from the banks of the Great Southern Lake. From this vantage point Raziel could make out the insect-like figures of vampire hunters fighting back Kain's forces outside the city.

Raziel's eyes were too unfocused to make out the victors. Night had fallen. Except for a few torches, the humans were fighting in almost total darkness. The air was thick with blood and confusion and fear. His chest clenched even harder.

The black mass of bats circled the Cathedral and landed in the dry portion of the lakebed. No doubt Kain intended to rally his troops. Raziel sucked air into his lungs and pushed himself as hard as he could. Knowing he would never reach Kain before he reached his men, he climbed higher and higher until he had a direct line of sight to Kain. He folded up his wings and dove for him. As he neared the ground he saw the Soul Reaver drawn in Kain's right hand. "Kain!"

Hearing him, Kain faltered and looked into the sky. Fear crept into his eyes. Raziel slammed into him at an angle and they tumbled into the dirt, smacking the hard, dry earth as they bounced and rolled, his wings aching from the constant blows. The impact must have knocked the Soul Reaver from Kain's hand, for before they even came to a stop, Kain began tearing at him with his claws.

Now Raziel had the upper hand. The cruel training he received as a fledgling taught him to be prepared for anything, and so he had honed his skills in hand-to-hand more fervently than any single weapon. Kain managed to rake a few gouges across his shoulders and face, wounds which were fleeting, before Raziel grappled him with his legs and flipped him over. As he pinned him to the ground he grabbed Kain by the throat and raised his right arm. The knuckles on Raziel's gauntlets were solid steel with spikes that pointed forward in a fist. The spikes tore at Kain's face at the same time as Raziel pummeled him.

The turmoil of the nearby battle muted muted beneath the cracking of Kain's bones and the screams of Janos Audron as the demons tore him apart. Somehow, this was all Kain's fault. Before Raziel was even raised from the dead this bastard already had his fangs in his destiny. It was as if fate had spun them from the same cloth and left them stitched together at the seams. Every moment of Raziel's existence seemed tailor made to serve Kain. Janos' death only served to feed his self-loathing, to trick him into pursuing his Sarafan mirror image, if only to give Kain the opportunity to be the hero he always wanted to be, as if Raziel and Janos were merely objects to serve the destiny of a _greater_ man.

Each time he lost Janos, Kain showed up; to save him from the Reaver, to imprison him, and finally, so that Raziel could take back that damned sword once and for all, to turn the tables at last. But victory left a bitter taste. As Vorador said, they could never reclaim what was lost. Nothing could return those he loved to life, the thousands of Razielim Kain snuffed out; and the death of Janos, whom fate had chosen to sacrifice so that this undeserving, ungrateful son of a bitch could restore _his version_ of Nosgoth, to dominate and subdue.

Did fate see fit to rob him of every soul he held dear only to push him into confrontation upon confrontation with Kain? Was he only allowed happiness to teach him how to hate? He felt so fucking sick of seeing Kain's face every time he turned around that he wanted to pound his skull into the ground like a stake. Blood welled up around Raziel's teeth. Weakened from the exhaustive chase, he did not feel himself bite into his tongue.

The punishment could have gone on for hours or minutes as he violently expelled every drop of hate and betrayal welled up inside of him from this vampire he once called father. As his punches weakened, his vision cleared for a brief moment, allowing him a glimpse of Kain's golden eyes, pupils pointed at him like black daggers, gleaming with quiet fury. When he could no longer lift his arm Kain latched onto his throat.

Raziel barely managed to gasp. The noise was cut off as Kain slammed him into the ground. He felt as though he was choking. His body did not need to breathe, but it had no idea how to cope with all the stress Raziel had inflicted upon it, so in desperation, it tried to force air into his lungs despite the blocked passage. Kain squeezed his windpipe until he thought his head would explode.

When he fought Kain in Avernus, a mysterious force from within the Cathedral had seemed to fuel his rage. Now the same tragedy had occurred. Except this time, the source came from within himself. These were his demons. Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving dirty trails down his bloody, filthy face.

Kain was right. He always managed to be right. At any moment Raziel could have chosen to draw the Reaver and end this; he could have snapped Kain's neck or ripped out his heart, if he even had a heart. Instead, he had sacrificed all his strength to satisfy his hate. He could only kill Kain when he was cornered and possessed, like in Avernus, or by accident, because in spite of all the torture Kain had inflicted, he would rather live with an enemy haunting his every thought than completely alone.

Kain spat a gob of blood onto the ground. "Satisfied?"

No. Not at all.

Raziel felt the belts holding the Reaver's sheath slip away as Kain lifted him, the weight of the Reaver gone. His vision blacked out for a moment. When he came back he assumed he had only missed a moment, for he was now lying on the ground, the Reaver lying far beyond his reach, his body a pincushion of aches and complaints. Kain stood over him with the Soul Reaver in hand, his boot pressed down on Raziel's ribs. There was no need to. He had pushed himself too far beyond his physical limit to be of any threat.

Besides, he felt so tired of fighting Kain; of being the unstoppable force assaulting the immovable object for eternity. Even looking at him hurt. If it had to end like this, at least it would _end. _He closed his eyes and tried to think of spring.

Steel rang in his ears. A second sword deflected the Soul Reaver. The weight of Kain's boot suddenly left his ribs, allowing him to exhale. He opened his eyes, shocked, and in the tumult of darkness a shadow passed over him. The moment he realized he had been saved, he _remembered_ everything that would happen next. He suddenly knew who that shadow belonged to and what would soon become of him. He could do nothing to stop it. Everything would happen so fast.

Only the element of surprise afforded Joseph Hasek the chance to drive back the Vampire Lord. He challenged him with a short sword, both hands clutched around the hilt, and in the confusion, managed to cut Kain as he drove him back. But Kain did not suffer fools for long. When Hasek tried to strike his neck, Kain grasped his forearm while the sword was in mid-flight and snapped it like a twig. "To hell with you!"

Howling in agony, Hasek released his sword and dropped to his knees. Holding him by his broken limb, Kain prepared to strike when a crossbow bolt whizzed past his ear. The darkness made it difficult for the vampire hunters to aim their sights, but the flaming eyes of the Soul Reaver gave them a hint. Two more bolts embedded themselves in Kain's shoulder and lower ribs. As he lay on the ground, Raziel heard Hasek's men charging toward them, shouting blood and fury. Releasing his victim, Kain staggered back, shielding himself with his arm as more arrows sailed past and bombarded him. Finally his body dissipated into mist and retreated into the night.

Still suffering from wounds and exhaustion, Raziel nevertheless got to his knees and stumbled toward Hasek. He collasped at his side. The Major lay on his back, coughing and gripping his arm in horrible pain. Kain could have obliterated him in an instant with the Soul Reaver. Fortunately, he enjoyed seeing terror in the eyes of a dying man. Clearly, he wanted Hasek to suffer for interfering.

Blood seeped through Hasek's armor. Although he could not see the wound, he knew by the angle of the limb and the agonized horror on Hasek's face that the bone had broken through the skin. Raziel knew he would need medical attention soon or else he would bleed out. He turned on the approaching crowd, bristling at the vampire hunters. "Stay back! One of you get the damned gates open – tell them Hasek's been hurt! Hurry! And someone get the Reaver! Take it to the officer's quarters while I help Hasek!"

"Shit! I-I'm done for," Hasek said with breath in his lungs at last. He was trembling, perhaps in shock. Raziel looked him over frantically. Other than his broken arm and a few small cuts from battle, he found no obvious signs of injury.

"Like hell you are. Come on, we need to take care of this."

"No! Wait, no, I c-can't feel - can't feel my hand. Oh shit." He managed to look up at him, squinting through the pain. "Raziel? I... I think I'm going to lose my arm."

Raziel suddenly realized it was Hasek's sword arm that had been hurt. Hasek once said that losing his career would be akin to a death sentence. "No, you're not."

"Oh, stop it… Shit!" Hasek did not believe him. He was staring down a reality which was all too familiar to Raziel, yet also so foreign that he did not know how to resolve his fears.

"Hasek, you're not… Just try to hold it in place. I need to lift you to get you inside the city. Brace yourself." Hasek whimpered as Raziel helped him to his feet. He put his arm around Hasek's shoulders and held onto his left arm to help guide and reassure him as they trekked across the lakebed toward the shore.

They passed the corpses of Turelim, burned to a crisp by the vampire hunter's primitive flamethrowers, and other monstrous corpses impaled, burned, and beheaded. Human bodies lay here and there among the dead, but the victors were clear by their numbers.

The dent Kain left in his head had disappeared completely. The rest of his injuries were self-inflicted - sprained muscles, mostly in his back and wings; a sharp pain in his right hand - but these would heal quickly once he had a moment to rest. The almost overpowering aroma of Hasek's blood reminded him that he would need to feed again soon. If he had not fed on Kain's house slaves earlier, he doubted he could have flown all the way out of the abyss - let alone chased down Kain. Yet his wounds were fleeting, devoid of importance by comparison to what Hasek had sacrificed. As they walked Raziel's lower jaw began to tremble until it practically clattered. "Damn you. That wasn't right. You should have sent someone else!"

Hasek was breathing heavily. Without Raziel to guide him, he could barely walk straight. Swallowing hard, he managed to say, "H-had to."

Raziel flinched as a small sob broke through his teeth. His own brothers had refused to stand up to Kain on his behalf, but this human animal – this mere mortal – risked body and career - his very soul - to save his life. The vampire responsible for enslaving and exploiting every single one of Hasek's ancestors. Hasek did not know that, but the guilt ate Raziel alive. His voice caught on the hooks in his throat, "Why?"

"S-someone has to lead," Hasek replied, giving him a meaningful glance. Raziel only caught a glimpse of his expression before his vision became obscured by oily tears. The other vampire hunters marched around them as a protective barrier. Raziel felt grateful for the dark, for he could not stop crying. The excitement in the air obscured his tribulation and dumb astonishment. It was all he could do not to make a sound.

As the gate came into view, Hasek strengthened himself. Raziel could tell by his taut features that he was attempting to mask his pain. Possibly, he did this out of fear of the field doctors; Raziel had seen the grizzly assortment of saws and butchering knives those men used, better suited for torture than healing. Imagining those tools used on Hasek's vulnerable flesh brought fresh tears to his eyes. Weakly finding his voice, Hasek croaked, "Snap out of it. N-nothing you could do. It's not your fault."

Raziel steadied his voice. He could not wipe away the tears while he held Hasek up but he tried to shake them away. His hands were as filthy as the rest of him. "It's not that, Hasek," he said quietly.

There were no words. Of all the incredible, impossible things he had witnessed, Hasek's attack on Kain was one of them. The number of people who had stood up to Kain's Soul Reaver and lived could be counted on Raziel's three fingered hand. Only one of them was human. Although Kain lived, this night would leave his pride forever scarred. He would never forget the face of the human who defied him.

At the time, Hasek's words had not meant much to him. Now he felt ashamed for discounting Hasek so easily: _I want you to know, you made a difference in people's lives. __You made a believer out of me. Now's no time to be doubting yourself. We're all behind you, even if it doesn't seem that way._

He finally understood the stark difference between being human and being merely human. The latter was a fallacy, mere prejudice. Hasek and the rest of the vampire hunters had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Erste Stadt had taken the Silenced Cathedral, driven back Kain's forces, and pushed the most powerful being on Nosgoth into retreat. This was their victory, not Raziels, but he felt humbled to be allowed to share it.


	27. Hope

The Turelim guards who survived the attack said that Raziel moved through the Sanctuary "like a Melchiahim," fading between the Material and Spectral Realms with the ease of a spirit. So Raziel kept his brothers' stolen gifts after all. That might explain how he survived the abyss. Ordinarily, Kain would have executed the Turelim captain for his failure to protect the Sanctuary. Instead, due to the losses suffered at the Silenced Cathedral, he offered to spare his life if he could bring him a human slave who knew what Raziel had done with the Sanctuary's stolen goods. The Turelim succeeded, as best he could.

Before he executed the bleeder, she gave him a little information on Raziel; information which turned out to be less than valuable. According to her Raziel had come to the Sanctuary alone and used some kind of spell to teleport the slaves to an unknown location. He had observed Raziel using a ring to teleport before. As he did not know the ring's capabilities, she left him at a loss.

Her death gave him as little satisfaction as destroying the chairs where Raziel and the other lieutenants once sat. Now Kain sat in his chair in the banquet hall of the Sanctuary, amid the destruction. On the other side of the table, only Vorador's chair remained. Somehow he had missed that one. It seemed to be judging him. He sneered at it and looked away.

The blue flames of Raziel's twin soul lit up the eyes of the Soul Reaver's decorative cross guard. Lying across the table, the white jade skull faced him with what appeared to be an inquisitive, almost taunting gaze. In this way a piece of Raziel was still with him. Sadly, the Soul Reaver possessed neither Raziel's intellect nor his sharp tongue and consequently made for a poor conversationalist. "If you could speak, I'd ask what the hell he wants from me."

"My lord?"

He turned, seeing Nogah standing in the doorway, and sat up with a disgruntled look. "What do you want? Is Chrysanta all right?"

"She and Buttercup have gone to sleep. I left Shakeel to guard them. I thought, perhaps, my lord might enjoy my company; or that I might be of service somehow."

Company. Kain sighed, "Why not? Come inside."

Nogah lumbered toward the table, twitching her bat-like ears and loudly sniffing the air, assessing her surroundings with her keener senses. She picked up a chair, once belonging to Dumah, and awkwardly sat on it. Kain disdained; she used to be so pretty. He remembered how she piled her long, dark hair in elegant buns and braids, her head crowned in beads of tigers eye to match the color of her bountiful lips; how she draped herself in gold from the tips of her ears down to her ankles with bracelets that carried music wherever she walked. Her eyes were a greenish gold, almost hazel. Maybe they were still underneath those thick cataracts.

As Lord of Nosgoth, he was privileged by law to pleasure himself with his lieutenants' lesser wives. The memory of Nogah's beauty may have contributed to his decision to grant her sanctuary, but he had no interest in her now. Not in that way. Kain leaned thoughtfully against his knuckles.

He remembered her: lilting, delicate, seductive, a perfectly uncomplicated and domesticated woman who happily provided a listening ear and never tried his patience. Now he could not figure her out. There was an enigma beneath that ugly face. Naturally, he had been surprised to discover that Nogah had other, more practical talents outside of the bedroom. She had proved her worth as a messenger and guard dog. Something else was going on. She knew something.

Her ears leaned forward, tuning into the Soul Reaver's faint hum. They leaned back, causing her to look small when she hunched. There was no deciphering this. "You have something on your mind," Kain observed, inviting her to speak.

Nogah was quiet. Her inhuman face conveyed fear in the language of beaten dogs. "Now we have two enemies. What are we going to do?"

Kain blinked heavily and glanced at the Soul Reaver. Yesterday he almost had Raziel, but he slipped away twice. If Raziel phased through the Spectral Realm to escape the abyss, then doing so apparently disrupted Kain's ability to sense him. The fact that Kain could only sense his fellow Guardians in his vampire form certainly had not helped. To make matters worse, he had no idea whether Raziel was aware of the weaknesses he had so handily managed to exploit.

The interference of that human disturbed him even further. Raziel had not been active for very long in this time period. It had been a long, long time since a human being dared to defy him while he held the Soul Reaver. What had Raziel done to earn that level of loyalty in such a short time? What was he truly capable of?

He had not believed Raziel when he claimed they had become equals. Now, with a Reaver of his own and an army behind him, Raziel's new status convinced him to reconsider a lot of things. He shut his eyes, drawing a deep breath to cool his contempt. "It may be necessary to consider an alliance with the Zilahim."

Nogah tensed warily.

"I know what she intends to do to you, so I will do everything in my power to keep you two apart - _if_ it comes to that," he added, growling the last. Zilah might have ambitions to usurp him, but for the time being, _the enemy of my enemy is my friend._ "I need you to watch over Buttercup. For some reason, she trusts you more than the others. If her life should come to risk, I need someone with her whose orders she will not hesitate to follow."

Her voice lowered tragically. "I do not believe Zilah will cooperate without naming a price."

"I assure you, there are some sacrifices I am not willing to make."

This seemed to placate her. She almost smiled. "Thank you, my lord. But you know any alliance with Zilah can only be temporary. The moment you turn your back, she will try to destroy you."

"I know. That is why I intend to keep my eyes on her at all times." He eyed her critically, trying to piece her together. "Nogah, there's something else..."

She retreated inward, becoming quite still. Cautiously, she tried her lips with her thick, purplish tongue. "Lately, I have had something on my mind. Did you ever try to find Turel?"

What an odd question. Nogah had not spoken of Turel in ages, as far as he knew. He answered readily, honestly, "No."

"Why was that?" she asked calmly.

He shrugged, indifferent. "Waste of time. Wherever he is, I assume he's better off. Unless you know something I don't..."

Nogah shook her large head. She seemed distracted. Kain rubbed his claws together. Why was she lying?

After a long silence, Nogah lifted her ears like a pup looking for table scraps. "We both agree Zilah would make a fickle ally. What about Raziel?"

Kain's temper flared briefly. "I would never for a moment consider an alliance with Zilah's bastard clan if not for his treachery."

Nogah pleaded, "What if he doesn't know what he's doing? Please - when I spoke to him, he did not even know that Zilah had taken Turel's place. Maybe he doesn't understand how dangerous she is."

"You're saying I should talk to him, after what he did!? Look around you! I have gone far out of my way to convince that brat we're still on the same side and he has done nothing but spit in my face! I raised him from nothing, taught him everything he knows, treated him like my own flesh and blood, and forgave his every misdeed until the very last. I defied the stars themselves in order to secure a better future for the _both_ of us and he has not shown me an ounce of gratitude."

Nogah lowered her head. Her enormous, claw-like hands hung between her knees. Her ears pressed against the back of her neck with a faint rustle and her large shoulder muscles bundled tightly. In a low voice, she replied, "What does he have to be grateful for?"

Kain raised his thorny brow, eyes narrowed, upper lip curled. "_What_ was that?"

She sighed, softening her tone. "Raziel is not as cold as you, despite your best efforts, and you will never understand why he hates you until you understand how it feels to have the people you love most ripped away. This is not a better future for him."

He leaned forward; his hand unconsciously drifted toward the Soul Reaver's hilt. "Do not mock me."

She straightened, showing her many rows of teeth. "I am not mocking you, Kain! Is my ugliness too offensive for me to be frank with you? There was a time when you did not hesitate to lay your burdens on me and I -"

"You meant no more to me than any woman. We were never friends."

This, at last, made her flinch. She did not remain stunned for long. "You've never had a friend in your life."

"So what?" Such an accusation would have made him laugh in one of his better moods. He had often been accused of being heartless. This time, it put him on the defensive.

Her voice trembled, not in fear, not entirely in sadness,"You will never understand. Raziel may be too guarded to admit it, but I am not: _nothing_ is worth the pain I feel inside from losing Turel and my sisters - and from being forced to stand by while my Razielim friends died! The ones we lost were not _things._ They were as important to Raziel and I as our limbs, our senses, our minds... The second-coming of your empire will never make up for what we lost. Raziel is ungrateful - but you have given him nothing deserving of gratitude."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. The chair groaned as he shifted his weight, almost all of it muscle. He tired of this pointless argument. "You are dismissed, Nogah."

Nogah knew better than to take Kain's temper lightly. He was offering her an out. If she did not take it, she would face the consequences. She bowed her head, her nostrils flared in a wet huff, and quickly departed. The door closed behind her.

Alone, Kain's temper gradually cooled.

Vorador held a special place in his memory, but 'friendship' was the wrong word to describe their bond, which was grudging mentor and stubborn student. Rahab might have been a friend, except that he clearly preferred to keep others at a distance. Kain had seen no reason to break him of that. There were only two beings on this earth he ever considered his friends. One of them was Raziel. The other, he thought he loved.

She, the woman he almost loved, had betrayed his trust before she died. Vorador had tried to convince him that he was wrong about her intentions, but by then it was too late; since he killed her, he would never truly know. After her death he had experienced some regret, as one does when one loses something of importance, such as a favorite work of art or a prized trophy. He never felt the loss that Nogah described. Killing the woman he almost loved had not felt like gouging out his own eye. He nearly passed Nogah's words off as nauseating melodrama, yet something about them haunted him when he found himself thinking about Chrysanta and what might have happened to her had Nogah not been there. Unsettlingly, he found himself more concerned with Chrysanta's person than her station.

Pinching his brow, Kain eyed the Soul Reaver with distrust. Living without connections had always been one of his greatest strengths. The forced execution of his favorite son and all of his descendents would have destroyed a lesser man. Now he could barely stomach the thought of sending Chrysanta or Lamia to a similar fate. Just what had Raziel done to him when they purified the Soul Reaver?

He shook his head dismissively. "To hell with it."

...

During the two weeks since the battle at the Silenced Cathedral, the forces of Erste Stadt had captured Dumah's abandoned city. There were no casualties this time, save a few wandering Dumahim, all of which being nomads unaffiliated with Kain. Since their kind was no longer capable of speech he could not interrogate them, but the sorry state of their armor and weapons made it clear they were on their own.

There was far more clean up involved than there was fighting. The battle for the city had taken place more than a century ago. The cold weather helped to keep the bodies preserved. According to Kranz, Erste Stadt had attacked Dumah's city in retaliation for the Dumahim attacking their farmland and the caravans which sent supplies to the military in the abandoned Razielim territory. They abandoned it after a successful victory because, at the time, the land was worthless to them.

Due to the unforgiving terrain, the city served as a critical choke point for preventing an army on foot from accessing the Oracle's Cave. During the time of the empire, the Dumahim were the guardians of the cave. Even they had never ventured inside. Of course, Kain could still reach the cave with ease, but Raziel believed the regiment would serve as an adequate deterrent for the time being. He needed to keep the cave secure, at least until he could move all the important materials to Erste Stadt: the star charts, the astrolabe, the chronosphere, notes and other trinkets he wanted to keep. He intended to take some of the water from the lower chamber as well. His instincts told him that this water source in particular contained special properties useful for divining.

Finding blood remained a challenge. Now he had even less time to himself. Had he required sleep, he would have almost certainly starved or collapsed from exhaustion. He survived by being creative. By moving through the Spectral Realm, he was able to enter the prisoners' cells undetected and feed off the Zephonim cultists. Unsurprisingly, the unexplained death caused a terrible stir, and Raziel was unable to do it a second time, but it kept him from losing his mind. This would be so much simpler if he had a willing partner.

During the empire, a caste of slaves called _bleeders_ were used exclusively for menial tasks and feeding. They were the lowest class of humans. Sometimes they were killed, such as for a feast, but most of the time they were only partially drained. A small amount of blood every day would have sustained him easily. However, as he was still masquerading as some sort of messiah, he was in no position to personally form such an arrangement. He dared not reveal his true nature this early. There was only one person he could trust with the truth.

A bit of copper chain stuck out of Raziel's fingers, glimmering. He had forgotten about this trinket and only rediscovered it after he learned that Hasek was on the mend. Now that Hasek had been moved back to his quarters, Raziel decided it was time to return the trinket. After everything, he needed to speak to him in private. Raziel knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Raziel."

Pause. "Well, alright. You can come on in."

Raziel entered and closed the door behind him. His skin prickled, detecting a faint hint of blood in the air.

The blood came from Hasek's face. He had attempted shaving today, without any assistance, and it had not ended prettily. He stood at the window but turned when Raziel entered. His right arm was a stump wrapped in white bandages. Due to the severity of the fracture it had to be amputated below the elbow. "Good to see you," Hasek said blandly.

"The same. I have something for you. I'm sorry it took me so long to return this." He held up Chloe's necklace. Seeing it for the first time since the injury, Hasek looked as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He started to reach for it with his right hand. He corrected this quickly, holding out his left instead, but Raziel could not help noticing the hesitation.

"Thanks for taking care of her for me." He half-smiled.

Raziel tried and failed to replicate the expression. "I accepted Kranz's offer, as you suggested."

Hasek looked surprised. He seemed to search for something to say. "I hope it works out."

To Raziel's dismay, he shared Hasek's muteness. During the War of Conquest, when one of Raziel's men lost a limb, it had been merely a temporarily inconvenience. With plenty of blood and rest a vampire could re-grow nearly anything. Hasek would leave this world with less than when he entered. Clicking his jaw, he folded his hands behind his back and paced, finding it easier to begin when he did not have to concentrate on Hasek.

"I have an offer for you. As you know, I am not human, and I find your peoples' culture and politics difficult to navigate to say the least. I also require someone to act as my voice in Erste Stadt when I am not present. An envoy." He stopped, looking to Hasek. "I will pay you, of course."

Hasek raised his eyebrows. He sat down on the edge of the cot with Chloe's necklace in his solitary hand. "That's an interesting proposition. Kranz offered me a desk job with the military. I've never had to write with my left before and seeing how well I shave I don't think it would work out. It sounded dull anyway."

If this was meant to be an attempt at humor, Raziel did not register it. Looking at Hasek kept him thinking about phantom pains. Hasek tried to reassure him, "There's a man in Erste Stadt who makes artificial limbs. I'll be all right."

He tilted his head, perplexed. "Artificial?"

"Yes, out of scrap metal."

"Oh..." He almost flinched. He did not want to imagine Hasek wearing such a grizzly thing.

There was a short pause before Hasek changed the subject. "I heard what you did after the fight, flying in more medical supplies from the city. You saved a lot of lives."

Raziel woke from his thoughts with a frown. He had volunteered for that as soon as he had had a moment to rest and let his body finish healing. The long flight had been good for him, given him time to sort everything out. "Not as many as you. I'll explain later."

At this, Hasek was baffled. Raziel had never explained the total consequences for Nosgoth if Kain had killed him. There were many things he had withheld from Hasek which needed to be explained. But not now.

"Alright," Hasek replied, a little nervously, as if he anticipated what was going through Raziel's head.

Standing on the other side of the room, the silence was suffocating. There was something that needed to be said. It put a certain tension in the air. Crossing to the side of Hasek's cot, Raziel sat beside him with a sigh, on his right side. "I've been a fool, Hasek. I never should have taken you for granted. You saved my life at incredible risk to yourself and I have no idea how to make it up to you."

Hasek studied him a moment, uncertain. He shrugged awkwardly. "I'd say you're off to a pretty good start. To tell the truth, I've been worried about what I'm going to do after my discharge. I haven't got any skills. I spent my entire life in the military, hunting vampires... You probably know all of that already."

"I only have the answers that I seek. I never looked into your past."

Hasek looked confused. Raziel sighed and added, "I only knew about Chloe because you told me about her. I know what people are going to say before they say it." Except when he repressed it. Sometimes he would hear dozens of things at once, instead of one concrete answer, so he preferred to keep it simple. Besides, knowing what someone would say next took all the fun out of conversation.

"Oh. Well, that's all pretty dull anyway," Hasek replied, meaning that he did not want to get into it. "I guess being your envoy won't be too different from what I've been doing ever since you showed up."

"And you've done an exceptional job. I could think of no one better."

Hasek looked away, thoughtful. "So this is my fate?"

"I believe fate is what you make of it. We have the power to rise above our circumstances, no matter what those are." Raziel could not help glancing at Hasek's ruined right arm. What he just said might have been a lie. There was an old saying Raziel knew; that if a man tells the same lie enough times it eventually becomes the truth. To Raziel's mind, hope was a lie worth re-telling.

There was a long silence before Raziel spoke again. He made a statement, "You know that I'm not actually a messiah."

Hasek scoffed, a faint chuckle. "Right. You're something else. I don't know who or what you are, but I guess you've earned the title, if you want it. You keep performing miracles."

"Only what I can. I am a Time Guardian, nothing more. Since no one in this era has the slightest idea what that means, I'll have to carry on being a messiah until they're ready to understand." Raziel looked at him.

"Like me," Hasek said, understanding.

Raziel nodded, moving to stand. "You're a quick study. Good. Ready to take another trip?"

Hasek noted the ring on Raziel's finger as he pulled Chloe's necklace over his head. The chain was long, so it slipped over easily even with one hand. "Back to your cave?"

"Yes, briefly. There are several things that I must explain to you and they're best done in private."

Smiling, Hasek took his hand. His eyes bulged as Raziel pulled him to his feet with the strength of a horse. "I have been dying to stretch my legs."

* * *

_2,500 Years Ago_

* * *

The sky was impossible blue. This was the spring after Janos' death, the beginning of a new year. While searching the time stream for suitable periods in which to travel, at times when Moebius would be too occupied with his duties at the Sarafan Stronghold to travel to the Oracle's Cave, Raziel had discovered this day. He had been saving it for a special occasion.

Near the mouth of the cave, Raziel sat beneath the prickly branches of a pine tree. While the blue sky was a beautiful sight after his trials in Nosgoth's present, he preferred to enjoy it from the coolness of the shade. At the moment, however, he was keeping a close eye on Hasek, who seemed to have reverted back to a childhood state, as he was presently attempting to scale the side of the Oracle's Cave in order to get a better view of the surrounding forest, with only one arm. Hasek assured him he had good balance. Fortunately, that seemed to be the case. With the Pillars still standing in this time, Raziel knew he would sense any impending danger before it arrived. Even so, he did not let Hasek out of his sight.

Panting heavily, Hasek stood as tall as he could on the top of the cave. He used both arms to shield his eyes from the sun as he surveyed the landscape, although only his left cast a shadow. "It goes on for miles… Is that a fire?"

Raziel followed his gaze. A thin strand of smoke spiraled into the air from the south east. "There's a village near here, on the edge of Termogent forest. Someone must be cooking."

"There are humans here?"

"More than there are vampires. In this time period, your people rule the land."

"Can we meet them? The humans."

It was not just that meeting the humans of the past was risky. Raziel had yet to meet a human he considered honorable or good, with the lone exception of Hasek, and he worried his new ally would be disappointed.

"No, not right now. Maybe on a different trip. Once the skies clear I believe the most efficient way to restore Nosgoth will be to 'borrow' healthy plants and animals from the past. As long as we limit what we take, it should not have any great effect on the past. History flows around our petty actions. We must take care not to create too great a disturbance while we're here. If you were to speak to them, you would need to be very careful about what you said. Don't give them any information or advice."

He could not tell if Hasek was paying attention. While he explained, his companion continued surveying the land with a smile on his face. "Wow. That's something. Damn! I should have brought my spyglass…"

Raziel raised his voice slightly, "Before you ask to do something crazy, you should know there are bears in these woods."

"Bears?"

"Huge hairy animals that want to eat you. As if you need another good reason to stay near the cave," he added, a bit grumpily. He would love to go exploring, too, but it was far too dangerous. These woods concealed more fearsome beasts.

"Wow," Hasek said again, laughing.

Raziel raised his eyebrows. "Is the idea of facing a dangerous animal exciting to you? Nevermind, I already know," he groaned.

Hasek sat down on his perch, legs dangling over the cave entrance. Raziel hopped up onto the roof of the cave with a flap of his wings. As he landed Hasek leaned to one side and shielded his face from the wind. Crouching beside him, Raziel pointed to the south west where the sun reflected off a placid lake with a large island near the western shore, partially obscured beyond the treetops and mountain peaks. "That is the Lake of the Dead. Your human city will be built on those foothills two and a half thousand years from now. Further west is the land that will become my clan's territory, where your people immigrated from."

"It's beautiful." He stared at the Lake of the Dead for a long time. Hasek did not know that the Lake of the Dead had once been his grave. He did not know about his travels into the past as a wraith, his connection to the Soul Reaver, or many other things that would take far too long to explain. These could be left for later. He had, however, told Hasek about his life as a Sarafan Inquisitor, because he thought it would endear him to Hasek after he told him the truth about the other things. Hasek looked at him. "How are you going to manage living in Erste Stadt with your Blood Curse?"

Raziel took a deep breath. "With your help, I hope. I'll need a reliable source of animal blood. Abstinence is impossible - it would do more harm than good, and I need my strength to continue the fight against Kain. I promise, once Kain is dead, I am determined to find a cure."

"Like I said, I won't condemn you for the man you used to be. This..." He scanned their surroundings in wonderment; the infinite carpet of grass and trees, the pale, misty mountains and crystal lakes. A flock of birds flew by as Hasek replenished his lungs with air. "This makes up for it. If you can deliver this, give us life, you're a good enough messiah for me."

A smile tugged at Raziel's lips. He gazed into the distance, wings slightly spread, tasting the breeze against their delicate skin. Far to the south, the Pillars rose to touch the heavens, made more beautiful against the blue sky.

Leaning back, Hasek looked up at the sky. Several minutes passed in a comfortable silence. For Raziel and Hasek, it was a very different silence than the dead air of Nosgoth's future wasteland. While they sat, the writhing multitudes of Nosgothian life whispered through the brush and brambles. The pine trees rubbed their needles together; their trunks creaked. A blue tailed lizard clacked its nails across the rocks as it scampered in search of food.

This world did not belong to them. They were merely passing through, but Raziel intended to recreate it one day. He owed it to a friend.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**AN: **Kain's "woman he almost loved" is Umah from Blood Omen 2. Now onto thank yous! :D

Thanks to WraithLoverQueen, littlevamp, and Raziel104 for their encouraging reviews! And an extra special double-thank you to WraithLoverQueen for looking at so many of my rough drafts before I published them. I wouldn't say you were my beta, but your enthusiasm and encouragement has meant the world to me over these past six months, and everyone who reads Time Streamer should go check out Plague Dogs because it's awesome!

Thanks to everyone from the Reviews Lounge, Too Review Tag who started reading this story knowing nothing about the fandom, and an extra special thank you to those of you who went through the trouble of reading up on Legacy of Kain through the fanwikis. You guys are all excellent reviewers and I've thrived on your input and love. I hope this novel has been enjoyable for fans and newcomers alike.

Thanks to all the people who commented, faved and followed. Even if you've never said a word, I know you're out there!

Finally, thanks to Amy Henning, the voice actors, and all the amazingly talented people at Silicon Knights and Crystal Dynamics who worked on these games. Thanks for being an enormous part of my childhood and teen years and all the inspiration you've given me.

The story doesn't end here! A sequel, Guardians, is currently in the works and should come out sometime in the fall. There will be more involvement from Hasek, Nogah, Zilah, and a few other OCs introduced in Time Streamer, but the main story will continue to focus on Raziel and Kain. As a subplot, there will be a MxF romance between Raziel and an OC which I promise will not suck. Kain will not get a love interest, because Kain already loves himself more than any woman ever could. :P See ya there!


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